Anest was angered by this cold assessment of Lily's plight, but when he turned to confront the old elf with his anger, he was met only with a disarmingly uncomplex sympathy. Abashed, he lowered his gaze. "Though I do not like the import of your words, I can see that you are right. Yet it is a hard thing to watch in someone you love."
Dorain was preparing herself for bed, when there was a knock at her cell door. Opening it, she found Lily standing outside. The past two days had taken their toll on her. Dorain's first impression was that the nymph seemed ill. "Lily," said Dorain, "won't you come inside and sit down?" Lily entered Dorain's cell diffidently, but remained standing.
"Lily," Dorain persisted, "are you well? Should I call for a physician?"
"Why do they hate me?" Dorain knew from Lily's tone that she was more than just deeply hurt. Something within threatened to overwhelm her; her mien was that of a desperate, drowning swimmer, groping about in the dark for any hand to save her. Yet the harwynglaive found herself at a loss for words. How could she be honest with Lily without causing her more pain? Instead, she tried another tack. "Have you discussed this with Anest?"