From atop his scaffolding he could see a large portion of the city, and he liked watching the passersby come to and fro on the street below, seeming so tiny from his height. Many a person had caught his interest, but never one like her.

It had been her wardrobe that first drew him to her; there were not many people who would wear full robes in the summer months. It was a uniform he had seen a few times before, but the rarity of it was cause enough to stare for a long while; long enough for his gaze to roam.

As little else was exposed in her Sister's garb, Kiri's eyes floated to her hair—a light, frothy blue that reminded him of the sky itself—and the pale skin under it, reminiscent of a cloud. Her expression was so light and happy that he wondered if she was a real Sister. How could one condemned to an early death look so fulfilled?

Returning from the work she did should hardly be cause for such joy, he thought, catching sight of the determined look in her eye just before it faded into thoughtfulness. He found himself wondering what she concerned herself with.

His heart was pounding, he realized, and he was unsure as to why. Ever-curious, he thought that perhaps talking to her would open his eyes to the reason, and began to clamber down from his perch to the cobblestone road beneath. In the short amount of time it had taken to descend, she had disappeared.

He walked in the direction she had been taking, looking down alleyways in case she had turned a corner, but saw nothing. Who was she, anyway?

A small gasp came from his right just as the evening bells began to rang, and Kiri turned. Barely heard through the bells was coughing.

There she was, huddled against the wall.

He approached her—wondering why she was crouched over like that—but felt something was not right. Stopping, he assessed the situation more thoroughly.

Her hands clutched at her chest and her breathing was ragged. Her face contorted into one of agonizing pain, and without another thought he was running forward, screaming questions of her well-being and reaching out for contact, for reassurance, with Flare.

He reached out to soothe her fevered brow and his fingertips met a shocking cold. Her face was wet, her skin was cold, and her eyes were closing as she fell. His arm shot out instinctively to catch her.

"C'mon, don't die on me!" It was not a command, not a suggestion. He was pleading. "Can you hear me? C'mon, wake up!"

Her eyes fluttered open slowly, and her pain seemed to have subsided. He breathed a sigh of relief and cupped her cheek, attempting to slap her awake softly patting her face.

He didn't know who she was yet, but he knew there was one particular expression that described his situation quite perfectly. Love…

At first sight.