[ Her shoulders slump, then, and rather than gripping the shelf her fingers seem to barely hold up the droop of her arms.

Softly: ]

Do you truly hold my heart in such poor regard that you find it more in order to speak him ill than comfort me? Knowing I grieve him?

This is what you mean, by wishing to make certain with every ounce of your energy that I am all right?

[ Alexandrie’s head lowers, and she shakes it slow and weary. ]

If any were to talk of you this way because they knew you only as the scoundrel you affect rather than the man I know you to be whilst I thought you lost and mourned you I would speak for you the same.