By what seemed to be an eternity, Julius took long breaths and gathered his thoughts. The fair-skin paled into oblivion, there were times his aura didn't seem normal, times where the presence felt more than just a prince. Igna paused and waited in anticipation. Éclair would have usually triggered a sort of notification on what was to be discussed. At this moment in time, the spirit remained silent, as is a normal ethereal being.
"Ok," the brows lowered, "-Lady Mother is ill. Not physically… more mentally," he'd pause and stutter. The vocabulary seemed to fail him, "-I can't find the proper word," he turned hopelessly for answers.
"Take your time," said Igna, "-how about a summary instead?"
"Sure," the pressure alleviated. "I'll say it how I remember, is that fair?"
"Alright with me."
