“I do trust you,” Gerald admitted after a while of, according to Jillian, being busy with being pleased with himself. Of course he would say that, never in her life had Jillian been told by a man – or heard of men telling other women – that they do not trust her. In that sense, the answer was almost irrelevant, her question rhetoric in nature. Regardless, she could hold him accountable for deceiving her in the future, which was what mattered to her, no matter if he meant it or not. He went on to justify himself, how it would have been too dangerous during the battle (how?) and unnecessary before (why?). Furthermore, he demonstrated that he had been open about his intentions, and merely kept his reasons veiled in secrets. While Jillian could not deny this, she would personally consider the reasoning behind a given intention to be an integral part of the whole, something that Gerald obviously saw differently. So far, Gerald had done what she expected to see, which was to somehow explain himself and justify his actions in ways that she did not quite agree with, but then Gerald once again proved to be a little more ingenious and different from the men she had spoken to previously.

“Can you not believe in the credibility of my intentions without knowing the reason for them?” he asked her, almost deviously and still smirking, clearly aware of the weight of his words, ”Do you not trust me, Veldaine?”

That he would take her very words and turn them against her so hit her like a stab from a lance. A certain warmth welled up inside her, the kind of which precedes anger, but she was too surprised even for that. He had the gall to talk back at her like that! Vincent never had, always the yes-man. The little witch felt oddly enticed by this, and fell silent for a moment, enough time to lean back and lean on her left hand, still holding her cup with the other. As she did, a kind of grin appeared on her thin, colorless lips as well.

“Oh, Glass,” she began, delicately and almost seductively pronouncing Gerald’s surname and drawing it out, “how can I trust someone who does not even address me by my first name? There’s a gap between us, and you’re unwilling to close it. How can you expect me to?”

Her voice was soft and feminine, and her eyes danced between Gerald’s and the ground between them; she fully intended to play her part in this. There would be no better time to draw Gerald out of his closet than now, and he had set the bait for it himself, practically handed it to her. She was excited to see how the necromancer would react to this sudden shift in her demeanor.