"That's a rather pitiful way to live, don't you think?"
Priscilla blinked. "What is?"
He turned his head slightly, eyes still on the sky. "Requiring a reason to believe in someone."
His voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it—a trace of something she couldn't quite name. Not mockery. Not pity either. Perhaps… weariness.
He went on before she could answer. "If you need proof before you trust anyone."
Priscilla's brows drew together, her eyes following the last edge of sunlight bleeding into the horizon.
'Requiring a reason to believe…'
Her throat felt tight. A bitter laugh almost rose to the surface, but she swallowed it.
"That's not pitiful," she said at last, her voice quieter than before. "That's how the world works."
Lucavion didn't reply, only glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The sky behind him had turned a deep amber, the first hints of indigo pressing through.
