Argider stared at the ceiling, the accusations from earlier replaying in her head like an unwanted melody she couldn't silence. Murderer. Destroyer. Scum. Each word had been a dagger, sharper than any blade Fialova or her eerie twin could wield.
She scoffed softly to herself. Me? A murderer? Please. She'd never even squashed a bug without apologizing. Yet, despite it all, something about their words clung to her like a ghostly hand on her shoulder.
It wasn't just the words themselves. It was the way they were spoken with conviction and venom. As if the accusations weren't wild delusions but unshakable truths. And that unnerved her more than the swordplay or the near-death experience.
Then, she glanced at Fialova's sleeping face, the soft moonlight casting a gentle glow on her features. "How do you sleep so easily after all that?" she muttered under her breath.
