"You, who lives a meaningless existence, life centered around money and wealth, whose self-proclaimed wellbeing depends upon the strength of your fist! You, who can't take one second to care about your childhood friends, their bellies dragging across the ground when you have the ability to take them to the skies? Who are you to judge my worth, with your eyes so blinded by the clouds above? Who are you to know the plights of us ground folk, whose wings can do nothing more but drag us across the dirt?"
Syth stood, staring at Mrug, and for the first time in as long as she could remember he did not have an answer. She watched as the stone mask of his face peeled away, leaving behind something that was white and raw and real. And then she knew, she knew for sure; he was not going to have an answer. For the words that spilled from her mouth, as wet and raw as a fresh wound, were true and real. And he had no lies to combat that.
Not today. Not ever.
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