Claire always keeps her hair pulled back or in some sort of updo, since before she can even remember. She's never wanted to make it shorter, but down it's more often in the way when she's trying to do anything. It makes sense that he's never seen it down; her hair being down means she's either alone and relaxed, or in the company of someone she knows has no expectations of her, no godwork to do.

Her hair doesn't shine silver quite as intensely when she's indoors, but it casts just enough light to make her seem as if she's luminescent. Conveniently, it's so long, that the curly strands can mask her face when she wants them to, perfect for confronting emotions. His watching causes a brief, curious smile, then a surprise coloring of her cheeks before Sylvain's sitting, and she makes room for him to be close to her, despite space enough between them.

"Thank you," Claire murmurs as she accepts the glass, then tips hers toward him. "I've no idea what to toast to, other than being glad I have you." Emotion sneakily creeps in on those last few words, causing a small waver in her voice. She sips the wine, letting the warmth push down her melancholy.

"This is perfect, you have a good palette for aging."