The Marquis had been a number of things since waking. Pained. Sick. Disoriented. Shaken. Sometimes all of them all at once. Putting quill to paper did alleviate some of those feelings. He found words again and was centered and gratified by them. He had appreciated Pavi's very short departure not because he wished to be rid of him but it allowed him to feel less worried.

Him. Worried. He was the one who'd just died.

Of course when his companion returned, he had not expected him to have read his latest entry so soon.

"Oui," he admitted. "I did."