Cain clung to Cornelia's legs, his fingers still trembling as if he might slip away at any moment.
To anyone watching, he looked like a man who had narrowly escaped death, broken in spirit and body, desperately seeking warmth and reassurance.
Inside his head, however, his thoughts were a sharp, chaotic mess.
Cornelia, my foolish wife, why are you affectionate toward me? He complained silently, equal parts baffled and exhausted. I am acting pathetic and stupid like a child who lost his mother in a crowd. Why are you indulging this? Where is your cold discipline? Where is your iron will? Although this is embarrassing and at the same time humiliating. Didn't you hate weakness? I am showing weakness and being pathetic, don't tell me you changed?
Cornelia's lips curved just slightly. It was not a mocking smile, nor a smug one. It was warm, almost fond, and that alone unsettled him more than any blade ever had.
