[ They match each other, step by step. As she manages a smile, his own becomes easier to bear, settling into place while his fingers fuss about her, tucking her hair behind her ear, setting the strands that frame her face just so. ]

And what of you, little dove? Pretty as a picture — prettier than.

[ He takes her hand, leading her to an armchair before finding a chair for himself. ]

It's— strange, [ he allows, his gaze falling to the bracelet around his left wrist. A gift, now all that remains to signify someone he'd held dear. ]

I knew guests could disappear, of course, but ... I suppose it's the nature of all such misfortunes, isn't it? One thinks little of them until faced by such calamity, oneself.