Decorating the Feelings of Sorrow

"You're Marvel's weakness, Angelo."

The ice clinked against the glass. Larysa eyed the amber liquid and the translucent shade of the cubes. She poked them with her perfectly manicured nails to hear them jingle in the silence between us after her statement, and I watched her there, dumbfounded, as she drank it all at once, remaining the mini icebergs in her glass.

"Marvel's weakness is… me?" I couldn't quite grasp what I was being told like the information was never complete, so I asked for her explanation.

"Angelo, do you think you understand Marvel?"

Larysa's sentence solved the quietness but not my curiosity. After I told her everything that happened, now that she understood the situation between Marvel and me, she was ready to continue the conversation.