It was unsettling, the power of poetic words… Even if those poetic words emanated from the mouth of a Kazbirati, dripping over their wry lips like the blood of their recent kill.
Vitale reached for his chunk of bread, smeared in rich, salty butter. Foods with sustenance could still trembling muscles, subdue imbalances in the phlegmatic humor.
Perhaps it was more discomposing, Vitale pondered, that the human family which actively chose to mimic the instincts of a beast were gifted, by some higher power, the rhetoric of a demi-deity. Not only Nikolai, but Bozhidar also – whether delusional or lucid.
"So, in other words," Nikolai finished, flashing Rens with a full-fanged grin. "You overestimate me, Aquiladessi."
