Elara stared across the fire, her silver-white eyes wide and shimmering in the flickering glow. Every movement of the flames cast shadows across her face, tracing the jagged, scarlet lines that carved a living pattern across her cheek. She searched Luciel's expression with the intensity of someone expecting a storm to break—fear, disgust, perhaps even the cautious pity she had become used to over the years. But he only tilted his head, turning a stick of roasted meat with calm, deliberate ease.
"Aren't you afraid of me?" she asked finally, her voice breaking the near silence of the cavern like a tentative whisper. "Of… this?" Her fingers flicked toward the faintly glowing scarlet lines, her own internal pulse quickening as she spoke.
Luciel's black eyes blinked slowly, deliberate and unflinching. "Why would I be afraid of you? Because of those markings?" he asked, tilting his head, his tone measured, almost curious.
