Sarethvane had read his mother's Will the way he read the dead in every cemetery he had ever lain down in, and he found it all there waiting for him. Years of pain she had carried underneath that soft voice, folded away where no one could see it.
But in every way she interacted with the world, tidbits would always be left behind. A stranger who saw an odd cough, a stumble up an easy ramp to climb, a weariness in the night caught by the reflection of the moon…
He saw it all.
She had hidden it from him, perfectly, right to the very end.
Everyone showed their true face when they died, and hers had been the truest and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen…
He hated it.
What was it if not another lie? Another arrogant, ugly lie?
