Alice sighed and stood up slowly, brushing the imaginary dust off her dress. She stepped toward the edge of the garden, her back to me now.
"I tell you this not because I want pity," she said, her voice steady again, "but because you called that man a hero."
Alice stood with her back turned, her silver hair catching the sunlight like threads of moonlight.
"I called him a hero because no one else dared to be one," I said, more to the wind than to her.
She didn't turn around. "And you think that makes it right?"
I took a step forward. "No. But it doesn't make it wrong either."
She finally glanced over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.
"You think justice is so simple, Julies?" Her voice was soft, but it held an edge. "An eye for an eye? A head for a head? Is that the world you want?"
I hesitated, then spoke with careful honesty. "Justice is a matter of perspective, My Lady.
Alice didn't reply immediately.
