Allard was bathed in the starlight, as was Lumielle. An exhale pressed at the purple-haired woman's lips, "I will head back inside." She spoke briefly, her eyes glowering, her expression sullied. Her sordid actions made Allard pause.
Lumielle would have given everything to have him act like this in her previous life. The life that she had abandoned—the life that her brother had told her to kill. Forget about it, that she would do. Lumielle would not ruminate in the past anymore. This man was not the same; she was also not the same.
He did not want her love.
Lumielle would not give it.
"Wait," he paused. "There was a time in which you were kind," He seemed to try and reason with her. For why did he say this? "Whatever this is," he seemed to wish to be transparent with her, "I hope that you overcome it."
Lumielle's nerves had already been harped upon, fraying as if a violin had sewed its bow upon them. "There is no overcoming this."
