[When he turns to face her, he will find the opposite of his solemn, impassive facial expression. In her one remaining eye is a fury- and not one born simply from duty or allegiance. It is far more personal than that. She allows the silence to stretch out between them, she waits for him to speak first... but her body is fairly vibrating with tension in the interim, her fingers curled into fists.

Fists that tighten when he answers exactly the way she'd feared he would.]

Why?

[Her demand is explosive and immediate, her voice low and dangerous.]

Were you so weak-willed this entire time? All it takes is a little whispering in your ear to turn you to that witch's side?