Braxiatel rose again. He had learned the art of lying twice: once, in his youth, where he built himself up as a perfect reflection of what people wanted to see, and again, when he composed himself as the picture he wanted others to see in him. Portraits, though, could be burned, and mirrors could be shattered. The destruction pained him. It would have been unbearably cruel of him to tell Benny that he could see right through her.

Braxiatel opened the door for Benny. He had a choice in how he would answer her, blithe tone and kind words or kind tone and blithe words. With a smile that said he saw nothing wrong with her composure, Braxiatel said, "Whatever you want."