#lowetyde

They were yards away from one another, and yet Alana felt as though he had punched her in the stomach. Her jaw went slack.

"Marlowe!" she admonished. "Why, that is simply just not true! Everyone is capable of love."

Her brows furrowed together. How could even consider that to be remotely accurate? And to state it with such certainty, in fact! There had to be a way for her to change his mind, or at least plant the seed of plausibility.

"Do you not feel the joy when everything clicks into place? The satisfaction after a good meal?" She tried not to wince at what the merman's idea of a 'good meal' surely was. How savage to think she used to partake in that custom so regularly. "There must be something you love," she said, tapping her lips with her pointer finger. "What about..." What about what? Murder? Killing defenseless beings for sport? "--Ianthe?"