Blackfeather Woods [m] The world laughed at any attempts we made to exist in it without pain

It would not take too long for the effects to take place, and Cicero waited patiently. He had time. He noted Xan appear from Wolfskull at some point, unsure how long he had waited by that time, but while he looked around, eyes did not focus onto him. Mismatched eyes gazed at Xan as he started to grow unsteady. He had guessed that Alexander should be lucient enough to know and feel what was going on, to remember, but not strong enough so that he could fight back much.

Death was not the final destination here, of course. Death was not something Cicero feared and so it was not something he wished upon the wrongdoers of the world. Fear was a much stronger sort of pain; the knowledge you might die, the feeling of pain and humiliation, but the uncertainty of what might come and when. Humiliation, Cicero guessed, would be Alexander's worst enemy.

"Pathetic," Cicero said as he got up from the shadows. He still looked frail in the famine's wake. "Who are you even talking to, Alexander?" The feeling of power gave him a rush. In a way, it was as if Cicero himself was as drugged as Alexander, but high on a different kind of drug.