I'm so normal about First Heretic
As bright as the sun,' Cyrene whispered, crying now. 'I see gold, and gold, and gold.'
A hand the size of her head touched her with a ghost's softness, thick fingertips brushing her cheeks, drying her tears. She breathed out a sigh without meaning to, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
'Cyrene,' Lorgar's voice was resonant and low in her ears. 'I am told you are something of a talisman to my warriors. A lucky charm, if you will.'
'I couldn't say, my lord.'
'I am not your lord,' Lorgar gently stroked her features, fingertips smoothing along her nose, her cheekbones, her jawline. It was as if he were the blind one, needing to touch her to imagine her features. 'Your life is your own, not mine - not anyone's - to claim.