He gave the faintest shiver of pleasure at the description, not able to articulate why, not even to himself. It appealed, the thought of that cold, hungry blackness, and the delicate, hopeful mechanisms put in place to appease, refuse and manage it. "A raft of light in the dark. That does seem far preferable to this omnipresent bloody glare. It's like being watched by an angry god..." Here squeezed her arm, flashed a fang, and all but bounded down the stairs. "But without the romance of such things."