[He flinches - he can't help it, because it's pain and pain hurts, and now he's living up to his title whether he wants to or not, with blood streaming into his tunic.
He flinches at the blow, but nothing else. There's a flicker of glamour where the blood is fluid, more violet than clear, and he glances at it for a moment before locking his eyes with her again. There's a faint smile on his face, satisfied, because she didn't kill him and that, to him, is as good as winning.]
Then why is it so hard for you to believe that there's someone else who feels the same?
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He flinches at the blow, but nothing else. There's a flicker of glamour where the blood is fluid, more violet than clear, and he glances at it for a moment before locking his eyes with her again. There's a faint smile on his face, satisfied, because she didn't kill him and that, to him, is as good as winning.]
Then why is it so hard for you to believe that there's someone else who feels the same?