I lived in the home of the man Iâd killed. The thought didnât occur to me until two months after his death, when the nightmares began. Maybe because the palace had been an opulent and spacious distraction, its white halls and crimson banners a convincing veneer. Maybe because Kahl Ninu hadnât been a man at all.
Or maybe because a part of me, a part I didnât want to acknowledge, was just as cold as the Infinite.
The idea worried me sometimes, but the nightmares were quick to chase away the notion. Besides, if it was true, seeing Avan every day would hurt less.
The pain never kept me away, though