>>6310641That ugly jolt of jealousy stings you once again, burning bitter in your throat, like you drank a mouthful of cleaning alcohol.
“She is so patient with <span class="mu-i">you</span>,” you grumble.
For the favorite daughter.
Compared to her, you are just a discarded rag.
After all you did.
A Knight is gracious—but right now you don’t feel knightly at all.
Then the Stilladìa sets a finger against her lips.
Thinking.
Thinking is dangerous always, even more so from her.
You should probably choke her slender neck, or bash her head in with… with something.
Your sword must still be around here somewhere.
If you thought it would do anything but amuse her, you’d strike.
Instead, she nods to herself.
“I came here knowing much about you, Argia Candente. You knew very little about me.”
“I know enough.”
“Not everything your faith taught you has proven true as of late, has it?” She smiles. Softer than a grin. She looks almost… embarrassed. “I know how it is. The frustration—the feeling of betrayal. And I know how confused you are. So: I do have a proposal. Your Trial approaches, and you must take a decision. Will you go onward, ignorant, with that yoke around your neck and that blindfold over your eyes, walking like a mad woman towards the abyss and the shower of molten gold that will turn your bones into charred cinders—”
“You have such a <span class="mu-i">way</span> with words. Trusting Ansàrra is not madness!”
You shout, and she continues, undeterred, her confidence a wedge piercing what little you can hold on to.
“—or see for yourself. And learn. And decide, standing, on your own feet.”
[cont.]
