Percival sheathed his sword slowly.
The snapping sound seemed to break the elderly woman out of her trance. She flinched, pulling the heavy furs tighter around her frail shoulders, her clouded eyes staring at Percival's face.
"I am not the Reaper," Percival said.
He had done his best to make his voice gentle. To not terrify her, to comfort her as much as he could manage.
"My name is Percival. And I am not here to end you. I am here to free you."
Alenya said nothing for seconds, then, as though she had finally processed his words, she parted her lips weakly.
"Free me?" her voice cracked, dry as parchment. She let out a hollow, rattling laugh that turned into a cough.
"There is no freedom from this room, Per— Percival. Tell me the truth and don't try to comfort me. Did... did Tristop send you? Has he finally decided that feeding me is a waste of coin?"
