He doesn't know that there is a way, is the thing. Demons can do whatever they damn well please once they get ahold of you. Anything it says, does, promises, shows him -- it could be another part of the illusion.
It's so committed to convincing him, though. Why? He's reformulating other possibilities: a helpful spirit, like Justinia; a fever dream cooked up by his own mind. Alistair can't bring himself to follow through to the last option: that it -- he -- is telling the truth.
Carefully, he pushes himself away from the wall. Hands at his sides, Alistair crosses the room in slow, measured steps, willing himself not to stumble. He halts two feet away from Cullen; there's another long moment of expressionless study.
Then he reaches out to give him a poke on the shoulder.
no subject
He doesn't know that there is a way, is the thing. Demons can do whatever they damn well please once they get ahold of you. Anything it says, does, promises, shows him -- it could be another part of the illusion.
It's so committed to convincing him, though. Why? He's reformulating other possibilities: a helpful spirit, like Justinia; a fever dream cooked up by his own mind. Alistair can't bring himself to follow through to the last option: that it -- he -- is telling the truth.
Carefully, he pushes himself away from the wall. Hands at his sides, Alistair crosses the room in slow, measured steps, willing himself not to stumble. He halts two feet away from Cullen; there's another long moment of expressionless study.
Then he reaches out to give him a poke on the shoulder.