That razor-thin moment's hesitation is enough to tell him worlds, and the Outsider's mouth quirks into a grin, expression verging on a smirk.
"Lurking? No. Only watching." He hadn't orchestrated these shadows, after all. They simply happened to be here. If the sun had been shining bright, he would have approached her, still. It's true the Outsider appreciates a little bit of show in his appearances, true he might make use of shadows, but he has no reason to hide from her. No, he wants something from the woman. Needs her to see him. Needs to speak with her, and to discern what it is that had drawn his Chosen across all this distance.
He lets her approach him, not wavering from his position. Watches the ways her past swims around her body, clings to her, drips from her every gesture. Sees the way she's laced here and there with blood, yet never saturated by it. As if something about her resists its stain. As if something about her shines, almost. How curious.
"Tell me, Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo. What is it you're escaping?" He lets his awareness wander across the impress of her being, the shuddered lines and clouded recollections that roil so clear before him. He catches images of red, of shadows closing in, of teeth flashed sharp against darkness, of the edges of a despair run leagues deep. Catches fracture and a mangled youth, damage done to one so unsuspecting, innocent.
It's... almost unsettling. Almost causes him disturbance. What an unfortunate life this woman's seen.
no subject
"Lurking? No. Only watching." He hadn't orchestrated these shadows, after all. They simply happened to be here. If the sun had been shining bright, he would have approached her, still. It's true the Outsider appreciates a little bit of show in his appearances, true he might make use of shadows, but he has no reason to hide from her. No, he wants something from the woman. Needs her to see him. Needs to speak with her, and to discern what it is that had drawn his Chosen across all this distance.
He lets her approach him, not wavering from his position. Watches the ways her past swims around her body, clings to her, drips from her every gesture. Sees the way she's laced here and there with blood, yet never saturated by it. As if something about her resists its stain. As if something about her shines, almost. How curious.
"Tell me, Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo. What is it you're escaping?" He lets his awareness wander across the impress of her being, the shuddered lines and clouded recollections that roil so clear before him. He catches images of red, of shadows closing in, of teeth flashed sharp against darkness, of the edges of a despair run leagues deep. Catches fracture and a mangled youth, damage done to one so unsuspecting, innocent.
It's... almost unsettling. Almost causes him disturbance. What an unfortunate life this woman's seen.