How long had it been? The days were starting to blur together, one after the other. Izira barely slept and when she slept she didn?t dream at all. Head put down upon her pillow, eyes closed and her mind was engulfed by void. No thoughts, no memories. Her mind was blessed with darkness and nothing. It was as if each night Izira welcomed her own death and woke again to life every morning that followed.

Her dreams were not missed.

Pain was also gone. Her right hand no longer showed any signs of the damage that had been done to it. Skin once more pristine and unblemished, Izira watched the morning sunlight glow gently against the skin. No scars, no cuts, nothing. The hand balled into a fist, squeezing tightly. No pain. She remembered there being pain when it happened, but now it was gone. What was it Eva had said to her?

?You could just say it... you could just say that you're hurt... that he hurt you.?

Izira watched as white expanded over her knuckles, fingernails bit into her skin and left angry red marks. Nothing was felt.

?I will not.?

She tried to remember that day, the day her lover left her. He had found her in the park. She had been feeding the birds, small flighty things that sung sweet songs in the trees that surrounded her. There was the memory of being happy and suddenly everything had changed. He was going to be with someone else, there had been pain. Dimly, Izira recalled the pain but could not even awaken a shadow of it in her heart once more. Then he was leaving her, leaving her to the pain. The distance he was creating alive in the bond they shared. It had been the bond that sparked her anger. He would leave her broken hearted and watch from a distance. Consequences had been known, she accepted them. It was madness, wasn?t it? There were be too much power inside of her and she would lose her mind. She didn?t feel lost.

She didn?t feel pain.

Hand unfolding, she took in the four crescent shapes dug into the palm of her hand. Each small curve colored red with blood. Curious. She brought the flat of her palm closer to her mouth, head tilted ad eyes closed as her tongue licked out against the surface. The blood tasted of metal and felt cold against her tongue. Something new, though she couldn?t fathom the cause. Eyes opened, gazing down at the palm. The cuts were already done clotting and no further blood appeared. The hand was dropped away to her side. A slow exhale, her eyes moved towards the curtains.

There was something else different. Her mind, her memory, felt dull and half asleep at times. Faces were familiar, but names?new ones at least?took time to recall. It felt like fighting through a muck of jumbled thoughts just to recall a recent occurrence. A woman who ordered tea, a man with glowing red eyes, a woman with teal-colored hair, a manlike machine, Eva and Locke speaking. Would those cloudy memories be needed, would they mean anything in future days? She didn?t know. She didn?t care either. Instead she put her mind on things that were easier to think about, tending at the Great Helm and planning a party. Someone had said they would help her, hadn?t they? Izira wasn?t sure?

She was starting to forget.

Izira?s mind had been gone, but now it was back. Still, there was a difference within her. Her heart felt as though it was at a distance from her and her emotions were more or less a calm pool. There was a man she had kissed, merely to keep him from thinking he had her pegged. When he saw her the next day he seemed to be under the impression Izira was falling for him. The idea made her laugh. Love? There was no love in her heart for him or any man. It was that knowledge that she kept in mind as she thought over the faded memories of the previous days. There was someone she wanted to speak to?

--

She was simplistic in her stakeout methods. Finding a place to sit and watch The Mark, she waited for Alain's exit. She didn't care to go in. He would come out or show up in time. In hand she held a covered cup, a fruity mixture from a local place in hand. Her figure was still showing the weight loss, but her skin was looking better-vibrant and alive. No blackness showed under her eyes and those amber-browns were solid and alert. She wore a light blue wrap top that exposed the flesh of her collarbone and shoulders over a soft grey skirt and open-toed black heels.

Alain exits through the fire escape, and as always, with his hand lingering on the doorknob, he checks his surroundings more closely - there isn't much he can do about sharpshooters, but he likes to be as careful as he can. He's shutting the door and reaching for his sunglasses... when he spots Izira. After a few ticks, he opts to clip the glasses into his shirt (worn without a tie, under his favorite brown duster) and walks down the stairs, and checks over his shoulder a few times as he makes his way over to her, keeping his expression cool... the rolling emotions 'aided' somewhat by his paranoia. Still, in the pit of his stomach, he feels sick.

She watched him spot her, watched him take his time to decide what he would do. As he started his way over, Izira took a slow drink from the cup she held. Cool and calm, so much more so than him. Inside and outside she was unwavering. The cup parted from her lips, amber-browns turning to him as though he had just happened by an area he was not expected to appear in. "Hello Alain."

His calm is only on the exterior. Inwardly, for a number of reasons, he's a mess. "Izira," he says to her as he draws close, and can get a better look at her - and she does look better. Thin, but not emaciated. "How are you?"

"I am of sound mind for the time being." Her finger traced the top of the cup. Her statement telling him she knew she had gone mad and she knew it likely to befall again. Eyes moving from his face off towards the distance, "I faintly recall seeing you when I wasn't, briefly." Though he hadn't approached her, he had fled.

"At the inn, I imagine." Slowly, with a small sigh, he takes up a lean on a brick wall nearby, and fishes through his pockets for a cigarette. "Still working at the Great Helm?" Flick, flick. Puff.

"I am." She turned following him with her eyes and body as he settled. "I'm making dinners for duelers and throwing parties to bring in more patrons." She was so on top of things.

Her statement makes him wonder if she hasn't been to the Forgotten Layers, yet. "It must keep you very busy."

"It keeps me occupied. That is enough." She crossed her legs, silent a moment before she carried on. "I want to tell you Alain, I do not hate you." The words might have been kind, but her voice was empty of any emotion on that subject.

He still loves her, he realizes, but he says, "I'm glad to hear it... and the feeling's mutual." Blue eyes trail over to her face... and then away again, to the human traffic. "I imagine I deserve your hate, but I'm happy not to have it."

She didn't agree or offer him other comforts. Her next words delivered with unattached effectiveness, "I do not love you either." Holding up a hand she stood, and a brightness came into her eyes, hoping to still his tongue as she just watched his reaction.

He looks over at her again, eyes flickering over her face... nods a few times and looks away, maintaining an external cool. His silence may speak volumes, or at least suggest volumes are left unsaid - his tongue is certainly stilled, though.

"That you avoided me in my condition tells me something. I know you well enough I would say. It is guilt. The hero fails a helpless girl. You did not fail me as a hero, Alain. You failed me as a lover. Feel guilt for the heart you couldn't hold. But know what I go through is my own doing. I did this by my own hand."

Bright blues narrow in a small, thoughtful frown. Another study of her face is as useless as the rest - she is cool and composed, chilly as far as fire elementals go... The words she speaks sheds a little new light on the subject, not comfort necessarily, but at least understanding, and he nods slowly, once.

She sense his inability to read her, because there was nothing there to read. A cool smile graced her features, "My heart is cold." Her hand reaching out to him, the back of her fingers tips moving to brush their backs against his cheek. They were cool to the touch. "It is an odd feeling, yet freeing. I do not know if I was mistaken then or now." Speaking of her heart, was she mistaken to love him then... or cut off from herself now?

He steels himself the best he can against her touch. It stirs his heart to an incredible ache, and he bows his head slightly. Cold hearts seem to be something of a problem this summer... "...Be careful of it, Izira. You may have cut yourself off from more than you realize... more than you needed to." He holds his cigarette carefully aside. "I can think of a few friends of yours who are not so free."

"What is done cannot be easily undone, Alain. I need a new bond and until I find one the madness will continue to rule as it will." She chuckled, and it sounded just like it would before. Amusement highlighted by the smile that graced her features. "My friends. Do you count yourself amongst those not so free?"

"I was thinking of Jeremiah," he says with simple precision, and taps his cigarette.

She frowned at him, puzzlement flowed across her features. Another expression, suspicion. "I do not know a Jeremiah."

"Nor a Silas?" he adds, trying his best to indicate Silas is merely another of her friends, and not Jeremiah.

"Silas is not counted among my friends." An unknown man and another that caused her irritation. Her mood was now one of distrust.

"Very well," he says quietly, nodding. He retrieves his sunglasses, and does not put them on yet. "I've got to be on the move," he says, and the cigarette drops from his lips, and he stomps it out.

"As always." She shook her head. A sad look, then she smiled unconcerned. "Have a good day Detective." Turning she picked up the covered drink she'd forgotten upon standing and with that in hand. Headed back to work and the dinner rush.

"You as well, Izira," he says, forcing himself not to look back at her as he slips into traffic.