His cool hand feels comforting, she can feel a fever starting and it sends a panic in her chest. But the cool touch makes her forget about it. It's real. He's real.

She's not dreaming, he's here in her room. A normal person would cry out, would call for help at having someone in their home in the middle of the night.

But Justine has no one, she lives alone, and for some reason she can't quite bring herself to scream. She doesn't feel afraid and she's not sure why.

Justine takes a breath, she doesn't move. "You left the books and the notebooks, too. Didn't you?" she murmurs, "Left... " she swallows thickly, "They're beautiful."