[Bren remembered how to breathe and slowly, oh so slowly, allowed himself to believe that he could be safe here, that Essek could be safe and not in danger because of him. He didn't want to move, wanted to stay right here, held in arms that felt strangely familiar, like he was where he was meant to be.]

Thank you. I... [His arms would around Essek in turn, holding tightly to the cool body against his own.]

Last night was the first night I have felt safe in a very long time. I am grateful.

[Grateful and full of questions at why so much of this place felt like he had known it before, like a persistent deja vu that refused to ebb, a constant thrumming at the back of his mind.

He lifted his head finally to look at Essek, almost sheepish.]

I run hot, yes... [He was a werewolf, and part of him felt guilty for keeping that from this generous man, but he didn't know how to admit that he was a monster. Even with all the reassurances, a lingering fear that he would be turned away.

Glancing up, his eyes strayed over his shoulder and caught all at once on a portrait. Beautifully painted, lit by the warmth of the fire and lights in this immense library. One figure was Lord Thelyss, clearly, but the other.

Bren's breath caught.] That's... [That was him, he was looking into eyes that he knew, a mirror to another lifetime. His eyes widened further as he realized he was wearing the same clothes as the man in the painting.]