[That's just as wellโ Lobelia doesn't feel much like looking at this man now, his gaze instead trained forward on nothing in particular. He snaps his fingers, more out of instinct than intent, but nothing appears in his hand. No conchs, no bleeding hearts, nothing. Everything that mattered to him died in the land of the living, no longer within his grasp, so perhaps this truly is hell. Perhaps this is what he deserves after all, this empty mockery of paradise.]
Such audacity, accusing me of lying! What part of my explanation do you not believe?
[Some actual, genuine frustration manages to seep into Lobelia's tone. He's been nothing if not honest about his intentions here, so why shouldn't he be mad?]
no subject
Such audacity, accusing me of lying! What part of my explanation do you not believe?
[Some actual, genuine frustration manages to seep into Lobelia's tone. He's been nothing if not honest about his intentions here, so why shouldn't he be mad?]