“How much death have you seen?”
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The corner of his lips give an involuntary twitch, the cordial smile he, Oh, so professionally wore, recedes into a thoughtful purse, and his eyebrows lower, just to hint, he found the question a bit out of place.
Internally, the turbulence that shook him stays well hidden behind his impeccable visage (he mastered the skill of controlling one’s facial expression when needs be), and he fought the flood of memories that threatened to break it.
Oh, how vividly it played before him. The charcoal bodies, the crimson stained hands, the bone-chilling screams down to the fading whispers passing through quivering lips with a purpose. He runs his fingers along the rosewood arm of his chair as if finding the answer there before fixing his conviction-ladened gazee on the prince again.
“enough to make me realize what desperately needs change in this world.”
