These are the things of Blandine that Laurence has seen:

A woman in mourning, head-bowed, not lucky enough to be widowed. A beautiful girl waiting for a prince, a lover, a lord who will not return from battle. A lady, pale with silent grief, fighting an internal battle in the minds of humanity. Rapunzel in the tower.

Unlike David, Laurence does not believe Blandine is weak. But he does not believe he is her Launcelot. He is, if anything, her Galahad. He gives her well-deserved respect but has little to do with her beyond that and his duty to the gentler angels. He has no desire to explore her. It is not a flaw, simply youth: He believes that he is a knight and she is a lady.

These are the things of Blandine that Laurence has not seen:

Blandine with a blonde woman's head resting in her lap. (A leopard and a panther, curled together). She strokes the blonde's hair and pale eyes close, haunted.

Blandine on her knees in the rubble, bleeding, screaming in a tone that could shatter eardrums. Her fingers clawing at stones as if she can rebuild it all with her own broken hands.

A shattered Heart.

Her knees on a smooth marble floor, hands together. Lips moving. A clatter. Rising, turning, and there's a demon there looking for light. The return of something that resembles hope.

A silent battle, all the time. Always at war. It is always night somewhere. She never rests.

Brief steps, watching smoke rise from the Far Marches. Wounded Etherials. So many dead. So many more full of hate. She'd been working so hard at least for peace with them, not to have to fight a war on two fronts. She places a hand on the cold bulk of a dragon. She will have to clean up after Purity, Faith, the Sword.

A balcony. A tower. A flame, scarring the darkness. Herself, tall, cold, determined, her grief tucked in a box, away from display. Determined. She will never give in. She will never stop fighting. She will never stop waiting for the return of her fair lady.