“Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.”
PRIDE is a funny thing.
Considered a sin to most, pride—“the essential vice, the utmost evil”—is, to Lucrecia Falco, her most cherished attribute. It keeps her warm at night and calm in times of stress. Be it true or not, she knows she’s better than most, if not everyone. It was the sole fact for which her universe existed, and hers is the only one that matters.
To be prideful is to be tantamount to Royalty and akin to God. Lucrecia knew she was both, or at least she knew she deserved to be. Ichor coursed through her veins, ebbing and flowing through her as natural as the tides. Her temple ached to hold a crown, to reveal to all of Verona the sovereignty she was destined for.