Darius pulled away from Livia and walked over to the window, staring into the sky like some answer would appear to him, or a miracle would come and fix everything.
His voice broke the silence, soft and strange on his own tongue. "Would it be foolish… if I'd like her to hold my hand?"
Livia heard him. He knew she did by the way her gaze dropped, her eyes fixed on a worn spot on the floor like it suddenly had all the answers. She pressed a hand down her skirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles, and let out a breath.
She joined him, standing quietly at his side. "You know the answer to that," she said, her voice distant, almost wistful.
Darius clenched his fists. It wasn't fair- gods, it just wasn't fair. He knew that, had accepted it a thousand times over, but now it felt personal. Like the world had turned its hand to slap him and dared him to cry about it.
Maybe this was what madness looked like. Maybe the curse of his bloodline was already eating its way through him.
