[ That surprises Gray. Even though the village worshipped Arthur like he was a god, to the point where he seemed like the perfect solution to all of life's problems, she expected him also to be effortlessly charismatic and personable, the picture of a knight in shining armor. Even if the mind of King Arthur seemed something like Mordred describes — distant, analytical — she thought maybe the soul would be different, the place where the King's warmth resided.
It doesn't do Gray any good to dwell on these things, the what-ifs, but they don't plague her so much now as they once did. There's room now for more than just shame and self-deprecation; she wants to know a little more about the person Sir Kay seemed quietly fond of. ]
And that's the kind of king you'd want to be too?
[ That kind of ambition is utterly alien to her. Loneliness equates to despair in her mind; she can't imagine intentionally racing toward it. ]
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It doesn't do Gray any good to dwell on these things, the what-ifs, but they don't plague her so much now as they once did. There's room now for more than just shame and self-deprecation; she wants to know a little more about the person Sir Kay seemed quietly fond of. ]
And that's the kind of king you'd want to be too?
[ That kind of ambition is utterly alien to her. Loneliness equates to despair in her mind; she can't imagine intentionally racing toward it. ]