"Goodbye."

And she's gone.

... she thinks that went well.

A point to me. Your foremost cleric is permanently scarred now.

Ow.

Yeah, I thought you might say that. Shall I hurt them both more? Ember is so close to falling apart completely. I wonder how she will feel when she realizes that she's actually been the victim all her life.

No, don't -

Here, have a little nudge.

Fuck you. 

I guess I can't counter that.

Face it, I win.

We'll see about that.

As Ember walks on her way back to her room, she passes a man begging in the street. He's missing his right arm, and has a long, scraggly beard. He fixes her gaze with eyes full of deseperation.  

"Spare a little for a cripple," he calls to her. "Spare a little?"

She goes past with hardly a glance.

Pathetic old man.

"Will you not help?" he calls after her. "You're the same as me!"

She doesn't even look back. 

She returns to her desk in her room, and she sketches.

I can see her, Sunaira. 

She's troubled. Trying to process something. I don't know what it is.

That'll be Zon-Kuthon's nudge. 

Let it be for now. She's strong.

Alright. I trust you.

She can't focus on her designs. They all come out looking like broken bones. Jagged, pointy. Snapped. 

The lack of a limp is obviously better. 

If her leg had been broken - 

She looks away from the thought.

A crow flits past her window, cawing raucously.

She startles, and puts a line right through her design. 

"Damn," she swears. 

She starts again.

You're sure about this? She's having clear trouble processing.

I'm sure.

She sketches. The patterns come together slowly.

She can't seem to get off this theme of breaking. She sketches shattered glass, snapped branches. 

I see where this is going. It's not a good place.

I trust you.

Thank you.