Chapter 62: Time to get captured
Still clenching my head, I turned toward Priscilla. Her hands were clasped together in prayer, her fingers intertwined with a devotion that made my stomach churn. The dim glow of the fireflies painted a reverent light around her, as if the world itself acknowledged her misplaced faith.
I scowled.
’Iwant to punch that look off her face.’
Controlling my intrusive thoughts, I forced my expression to settle, though the twisted grin that stretched across my lips did little to hide my irritation.
"How long have you all been praying to Skin?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Priscilla’s face twisted in a scowl, her brows knitting together in immediate disapproval. "Lord Skin," she corrected sharply, as if the title mattered.
I responded with a glare—cold, unyielding, and filled with the kind of malice that could make a seasoned warrior hesitate. She flinched.
"I asked you a question," I repeated, my voice low and deadly. "Just answer it."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She turned her head away, clearly unwilling to indulge me. But eventually, after a long silence, she muttered, "Hundreds of years. Even before I was born."
Hundreds of years...
Yeah, that confirmed it. This all led back to the King. That immortal bastard. He must have been the one to start this cult, the only one who could withstand the agonizing pain of understanding something he was never meant to.