"That's enough, Frieren," the Elven King's emerald green eyes gazed at the distracted priestess, "There's no mistake. You know, your divinations, your prophecies, have never been wrong—it's the gift the God Of Creation has given you."
"Are you mad, then?" Frieren looked at the Elven King, her blue eyes tinged with confusion, "If you speak to God like this, perhaps he might forgive you, but then again..."
"Frieren..." The Elven King's voice remained calm and gentle, as it had countless times before.
"Have you not seen what I'm like?" Frieren's voice suddenly rose.
She stood up from her chair, her fair hands gripping tightly onto the red tablecloth as if something terrible would happen if she let go.
The folds on the red cloth twisted strangely, causing the black cards to undulate, "Xaen, Xaen, are you challenging God? Have you not seen me in my half-dead state? Will you also become like me?"
