[It's strange and confusing and appallingly human, the way the sight of her face brings a wave of emotions all tangled together. Is it fear or is it relief? Her eyes don't glow. He only has a dim memory of when his had stopped. Too busy to think about it at the time... out of her view, he brushes his gloved hands together, and runs the tip of the tongue over his blunted fangs.

He's not wearing his glasses. No tears shed, but his eyes are bloodshot and damp, and there's a telltale raspy catch in his voice. He could pass it off at the aftermath of a coughing fit if he had to, but he doesn't care. Fiona, Haurchefant, Watson - he doesn't care what they see. He's speaking to her and her alone.]

Look at me.

[And she does, and his mortal heart could stop.]

I'm going to dispense some hard to swallow adult wisdom in just a moment, if you're worried on that account. But before that, I want you to know that I love you. Whatever you've done, think you've done, thought of doing - I couldn't care less about any of it. In three hundred years I've never wanted to turn anyone, but if you willed it, if I could - I would make you my childe without a moment's thought. Nothing you can tell me will change that.