Villam's feet stopped, his hands ceasing to guide her in movement as a softly uttered admission of fear washed over his face, her lips mere inches from his own as she spoke the words. This Vazia, the woman who now allowed herself for the first time to appear vulnerable and unsure... it was the same he'd seen ever so briefly on the night of Homecoming.
That had been a result of separation from her stone. This time, she was doing it consciously.
Villam's hand slipped free of hers, slowly reaching up to rest against the soft curve of her cheek. So often he heard whispered mentions of The Guardian of Void, how she looked to be empty and dead.
Fools, the lot of them. There was so much life in her eyes, buried deep within. When she spoke to him, he could feel the woman that she'd once been, calling out to him from the hole she'd been hiding in for years. No matter how pale she appeared, her cheek was warm against his palm.
Her lips were warm against his own.
It was brief, fleeting even. Regis hadn't even registered that he'd done it until he was already pulling his lips away from her. It was only afterward that he recognized how badly he'd wished to do it from the moment she'd approached him on the bridge tonight. So badly, that he leaned down and did it once more, gentle, chaste, as if he were poking a sleeping giant that he dare not rouse and enrage.
Regardless, he had to poke and prod. He'd never forgive himself otherwise.
"The Void does not define you..." Villam whispers against her lips.
"Nor does your past."
As he pulls away once more, a smile finds his lips.
"I'm the Guardian of Passion. Heir to the Regis name." He chuckles softly.
"It's my job not to fear that which should be feared. I won't stop now."
Vazia Ferreira 
