“No you haven’t lost your sanity, you’ve lost your conscience,” says the Bagman, dark irises boring into the Truth.
“My conscience?” She counters, awareness lingering on the note of her tone. He thinks to himself that she’s much too clever for this stage act. He pulls down the curtain of a sigh when he sees the confusion in her eyes.
“Yes and it’s always such a telling part of yourself to lose.”
This time her naive smile turns to a frown, head tilting sideways in his direction. The movement is so fluid he questions his previous disposition. Was this really the same woman he once knew, and if so, what had happened to her?
He nearly scoffs, surely she knew. Surely she had to know.
“We don’t lose our consciences, we choose to ignore them. That’s the thing about it, this has always been a choice.”
She stares at him for a while, the wind whipping in earnest against both of their backs. The capitol sits boorishly in the distance, a mere skeleton of a building, a simple vessel to the entities in question. She notices the chill in the tips of her fingers and wraps them around the center of his palm.
“A choice, you say.”
“I don’t believe anything in life is ever really a choice.”
“Life itself has always been a choice. A choice made up by other choices, if you will.”
“How did you get so clever?” She tilts her head with a slight grin, attempting to get a better glimpse at his eyes.
“I started listening to you, instead of trying to prove my own lies.”