[That earns a bark of a laugh from Daan. It sounds strange, hearing himself laugh, but it's actually a brief, genuine noise.]

Fuck. Fair enough, then.

Its potency is a lot less since I ended up in this place, but it should help move your healing along.

[Daan cradles the injured hand into his palm, then begins to murmur. It's difficult to exactly call it a language, but it holds meaning anyway. First love's kiss, yearning, tender emotions -- whatever it is that love might mean for Vergilius is exactly how he should feel.

Something like a gasp fills the air, but it's not from Daan. Ancient runes in violet glow around them briefly as the pains in his hand fade with some of the worse cuts. Daan finishes his whispering, and he releases Vergilius' hand.]