Severe blood loss and corrosion interfered with his judgment, and his once firm will began to waver. As the Plague Doctor narrated, more and more images surfaced before his eyes.
At some point, Lancelot's world became confined to the wheelchair. He was imprisoned in that ridiculous chair, requiring assistance for everything he did. Although he was the Knight Commander, bearing Victoria's surname, as the Plague Doctor had said, he possessed far too little.
Imprisoned by the King's Curse, he had never traveled to the distant lands of his dreams nor seen the beauty people spoke of, let alone experienced any unforgettable romance.
Indeed, the Plague Doctor was right, the world was too cruel to him. Why not choose an easier path? If he just accepted this forbidden miracle, he could survive and rid himself of that damned wheelchair like an ordinary person…
He really wanted... really wanted to stand on another continent himself, to see things he had never seen before...
