The amusement in his voice makes his words all the more chilling. Even past all the unfamiliar terms, his intent is made clear enough, a picture further painted with each word spoken. A stage set for a tragedy, made all the more stark with the emptiness pressing in around them.

Dorothea is gripped by an icy unease as his attention returns to her more sharply. She is not quite convinced that he isn’t something simply conjured up out of the void, a manifestation of the fear he speaks of. He is evidently willing to play the part, at the very least. That earlier contempt and distrust that first compelled her to push him away seizes her once again in earnest.

She takes a step back, then another. But her features sharpen, eyes narrowed and lips turned down into a severe frown.

“Perhaps more spiteful than hopeful.”