Once upon a time, Magda may have questioned Erik's intent when he'd slipped beneath the covers of her bed - but years of experience and separation had taught her that time hadn't changed anything. There was only ever going to be one reason for his intrusion upon her sanctuary now and that reason was as enduring and unmistakable as it had been since the day they'd fled Auschwitz. She doesn't tell him to leave, or ask him to move, there's no hidden banter or snide comment made - because she knows as well as he does, if he had somewhere else to go, he'd be there. Sitting herself upright, with arms outstretched she beckons him in, the tense set of his shoulders and racing pulse enough to affirm what she already knows. He hasn't grown out of his nightmares any more than she has, but she'll soothe him as best she can. Sighing softly, in whispered Romani she coos out her words of comfort, cradling his head to her chest as she strokes through his hair. "It's alright, Ves'tacha. I'm here." Kissing his temple, her own eyes close, her heart aching for his plight more than anything - because she knows. She knows just how hard it is to forget.
