The Broken Hourglass Monday Update
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The elf rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I do not know what to say, sir. I have never had the luxury to... deny myself. Frankly, I have always lived constrained by my means."
"Have you? Have you truly?" Desonir did not believe him. Oh, he did not doubt that Lyrio Bregna had lived a meek life, but the postman's thoughts had obviously wandered beyond his scope a time or two. He had spared a thought toward the uses of his power; the glider service had been the result. Lyrio had to harbor a streak of curiosity, or else Zephra would not have lured him across the threshold of his villa.
Desonir approached the elf. Lyrio worried his lower lip for a moment before straightening his shoulders. It was a perplexing stoicism; Maron had described the postman using endearments akin to "sniveling" and "whelp." Desonir had not taken his butler's judgment at face value, of course. Maron separated most people into two categories: those he wanted to kill, and those he had killed. Still, Desonir had expected a token level of nervousness on the elf's part. He had not predicted the forlorn sense of acceptance that emanated from the man, as though he was just ticking away the seconds until the worst was all over. To satisfy Desonir's intentions, the elf needed to acquire a sharper sense of urgent purpose.
