He searched her face. A careful mask of composure had placed itself over him, hiding the turmoil and doubt that swirled in his mind. Nero's only response was a long silence as he mulled over her words.
"I do not know what it is you want from me, Roen," he said, breaking the tense atmosphere. The Miqo'te waitress was nowhere to be found; the Highlander had vanished into the kitchen, even though there were no patrons. He and paladin were courteously left alone. Nero's eyes narrowed at her. "I am not so sure you know what it is you want from yourself."
Where exactly did he stand with this infuriating woman? She claimed to want to save him, from...what, exactly? From himself? From injustice? From some hollow idea that the world was fair if one went looking for it? The more the thought about it, the angrier he became, and the more his temper began to boil beneath his facade of tranquility.
"You are fortunate, Miss Deneith. You are stuck in the twilight. You are caught on the cusp between the hopeful dawn and the despair of night." Nero began to tap a finger on the surface of the table, a subtle gesture of his self-control. "You claim that I am a person who contains naught but good intentions, that I am chained to my path because of fear. And perhaps there is some truth to that."
He leaned back in his chair again, a cold, analytical gaze being thrown across the table. "You see me as far better of a person than I actually am. And I do not know whether I should thank you for that, or pity you. But regardless, I cannot walk the path you ask of me. I have seen too many stray from it. The darkness holds no power over those who have never possessed the light...and lost it."
The paladin tightly pressed her lips together. "You are right. I do not know what I want from myself," she admitted quietly. The corner of Roen's lip curled upwards just slightly. "Since you do not hold hope for yourself, I will have to, for both of us." Her tone was firm, yet hopeful. "If you have lost the light, then you get it back, for I do not believe that it can ever be truly lost forever."
Nero's fists tightened. The thoughts pulsed in his head, a maelstrom of contempt and disgust. His lips trembled, pleading, demanding that he say what was on his mind. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to slam his hands on the table and scream in Roen's face. Why? Why do you have such blind faith? Why do you believe in someone you know nothing about? Why must you fill me with these doubts? His knuckles took on a pale pallor as his nails threatened to bore into the skin of his palm. You are arrogant! You know nothing! Don't you dare pity me from your pedestal of self-righteousness and hollow idealism! Don't you dare pretend that you know anything about this world!
But no words emerged.
"I do not know what it is you want from me, Roen," he said, breaking the tense atmosphere. The Miqo'te waitress was nowhere to be found; the Highlander had vanished into the kitchen, even though there were no patrons. He and paladin were courteously left alone. Nero's eyes narrowed at her. "I am not so sure you know what it is you want from yourself."
Where exactly did he stand with this infuriating woman? She claimed to want to save him, from...what, exactly? From himself? From injustice? From some hollow idea that the world was fair if one went looking for it? The more the thought about it, the angrier he became, and the more his temper began to boil beneath his facade of tranquility.
"You are fortunate, Miss Deneith. You are stuck in the twilight. You are caught on the cusp between the hopeful dawn and the despair of night." Nero began to tap a finger on the surface of the table, a subtle gesture of his self-control. "You claim that I am a person who contains naught but good intentions, that I am chained to my path because of fear. And perhaps there is some truth to that."
He leaned back in his chair again, a cold, analytical gaze being thrown across the table. "You see me as far better of a person than I actually am. And I do not know whether I should thank you for that, or pity you. But regardless, I cannot walk the path you ask of me. I have seen too many stray from it. The darkness holds no power over those who have never possessed the light...and lost it."
The paladin tightly pressed her lips together. "You are right. I do not know what I want from myself," she admitted quietly. The corner of Roen's lip curled upwards just slightly. "Since you do not hold hope for yourself, I will have to, for both of us." Her tone was firm, yet hopeful. "If you have lost the light, then you get it back, for I do not believe that it can ever be truly lost forever."
Nero's fists tightened. The thoughts pulsed in his head, a maelstrom of contempt and disgust. His lips trembled, pleading, demanding that he say what was on his mind. He wanted to shout at her. He wanted to slam his hands on the table and scream in Roen's face. Why? Why do you have such blind faith? Why do you believe in someone you know nothing about? Why must you fill me with these doubts? His knuckles took on a pale pallor as his nails threatened to bore into the skin of his palm. You are arrogant! You know nothing! Don't you dare pity me from your pedestal of self-righteousness and hollow idealism! Don't you dare pretend that you know anything about this world!
But no words emerged.
