"If it were not for their greater power and sheer numbers, we would still lose," replied Dorain quietly, her gaze inward, "for reasons beyond count. For instance, did you know that the evil Wights were once men of renown from Astargoth? They were not enslaved or coerced. They became what they are of their own free will. What was once a High Race of Men is now reduced to a kingdom of disillusionment, mired in self-doubt. Their haughty arrogance, their recklessness, is a sham, to hide from the rest of us, and from themselves, how they truly feel about themselves and their own dark past." She sighed. "They hate themselves. They hate life. The only puzzle in all of this," she said, considering the young water-nymph, "is you."
Lily's surprise, and a metallic foretaste of dread, made her pause from her work a moment. "Me?"
Dorain nodded. "You. The most unlikely soul now residing within the Four Kingdoms. The Demon King has risked his own to get at you. Obviously, therefore, your presence, your very existence, makes him feel threatened." Her look became thoughtful. "You were born far from the Marshes of Morag. That too is very odd."
"I used to have bad dreams," Lily admitted, though she was loath to broach the subject. "About the spring of my birth becoming an evil mouth, with a whirlpool of water running down its throat. I dreamt I was caught up in it, trying to escape."