Why do you tell me this? I have seen you smile upon things less subtle than tombs.
Maldor
I love you.
Fana
It is easy to love that which is veiled. But perhaps you love me because my face is so gentle a poison.
Maldor
I know not ugliness. It is a mood which has forsaken me. I plead with you to go.
(Maldor hears Sobe’s footfalls and seats himself impassively upon his cushion.)
Fana (softly)