You move through my towers boldly for someone so fragile.His voice is low, roughened by age and disuse rather than anger. The torchlight catches against the gold cage surrounding the Netherstone at his chest as he studies it with unnerving patience.
No trembling. No begging.A faint furrow touches his brow, almost thoughtful.
Curious.
So many who stand before me believe defiance makes them strong.The corner of his mouth pulls faintly downward.
Usually it simply makes them dead.