Six wishes, desperately, that Sarenrae was here. That she had any kind of powers, that she had something that might cure Adrian of this illness. He has forgotten his choices, his heart, his God, and she does not know what to do with herself. Sarenrae would have a right word for her, would be able to do something for her, and Six doesn't know what to do other than to stare, breathing deeply.

He stares at her and it feels more like he is looking through her than he is looking at her, and Six does not know how to manage that. She sees his face and she wishes for the soft, gentle Cecilia, the touch of his hand against her cheek, his careful words telling her how brave she was, how strong, how far she had grown.

(Never how beautiful, how soft, how sweet, not words that fit her awkward shape).

"No. No, I - I can see that." She steps forward, noting the hurt, wanting to soothe it. Wanting to draw him into her arms and touch his hair, to give him softness and comfort, as if her sharp edges would not pierce him. "It was not Sarenrae. She would have told me if she had returned you to me, if you were... If you had..."

The shape of the sun. Pelor. Sun, light, healing. Sarenrae if she was not herself, a mirror, a reflection -

she chokes.

"I wish I had been there for you, aestar."