"But...how are we supposed to know? How can we tell that what we're doing is right? Did- did I miss something?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his short, feathery hair. The sunset colored the already crimson locks the color of red gold. "No, Paige, you didn't miss anything. You can't tell; you just have to go on instinct and pray to whatever you believe in that you've made the right choice."

She chewed on her lip for a moment, and dug out her quill and book from her voluminous sleeve panels. "So...all the uncertainty, all the doubt and fear- it's all normal? I'm not doing anything wrong?" The quill hovered over the unblemished pages of the book, poised and ready to stain the creamy white surface with black slashes- it had always reminded him of a battle, with shrapnel flying and slicing open holes in his comrades. The pages bled ink.

"No...you haven't done anything wrong. You've done everything right." He didn't like this- her questions always made him feel uncomfortable, as though he were the one who didn't understand. But he did; he knew he did. He didn't look as the last Innocent scribbled notes in the pages of her book. Watching her write felt vaguely voyeristic and sacriligeous.

"But that means that you could be wrong, and then I would be wrong...what if everybody is wrong? What if there is a way to know? Wouldn't that solve all the problems in the world?" She nibbled on the end of her quill absently.

Templar shivered. "There isn't, Paige. Believe me."

She wrote furiously, the quill making little screetchscritch noises against the paper. "I don't believe you, Tem. I'm going to find it- I'll find a way to know the difference between right and wrong. I'll figure out what it is that we're all expected to do, and I'll tell everybody, all the people in the world. Then everybody will be happy, and no one will have any more problems. Come on! We should get going. It might take a while, and you don't have forever."

He gaped at her as she marched towards the waiting horses. A stiff breeze assaulted her, sending the scant silk of her dress billowing- the little golden chains that ran from her neck to her wrists and down to her ankles chimed musically in the wind. Even at this distance he could see her eerily colorless eyes, waiting patiently for him. As always, they were brimming with joyful innocence. What had he gotten himself into?