The man was still there, though he seemed to be peering at his hand with a very strange expression on his face. Had he managed to injure himself?
Alice frowned. It was no business of hers if he had or not. He’d been nothing short of insufferable since he’d followed her into the garden. Yet the expression she’d caught on his face continued to trouble her. It had almost looked like…
…fear.
Is he afraid of blood? Alice wondered to herself. Though, he had a gun and looked ready to use it, so she doubted that was the case. Although, she’d read about those who were only afraid of their own blood. Was he one such person?
Alice debated with herself for several moments, until finally, with a very slight exhale of exasperation, she asked aloud, “Did you prick yourself?”
Looking over at the girl, he quickly shoves his hand beneath his cloak, forcing himself to appear nonchalant. A chilled expression settles over his features, as if in rage that someone had dared to inquire such a simple question. “I thought you didn’t care." His reply comes too quickly, and he realizes this on the second word. He has made it far too obvious that he is h i d i n g something. ’Clearly…old age makes you slip.‘ Eyelids lower half-way in the sunlight, the lashes creating a curtain that filters the unwelcome glare. It is possibly a glower at the girl who has expressed concern. Thinking quickly to cover his misstep, he concedes, ”…I did.“ Addressing his attention back to the flowers, he internally sighs. Following someone is proving far more trouble than it should be worth.
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