Tristram
Tristram stood and stretched, wishing that he had thought to bring his shirt with him. He would certainly be warmer, now. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to focus back on the conversation.
It wasn’t about believing in someone, or having someone believe in you. For the most part, he didn’t care what people thought, didn’t care about them, and certainly didn’t bother with the effort of believing in them.
“Let me guess,” he said. “The only person who’s told you you’re too small or not beautiful is you. Now, I could tell you that your height doesn’t matter, that it’s all about how you hold and carry yourself, and that you’re actually beautiful, but I won’t bother, because I don’t think you’d believe or listen to me, even if it’s true.” He grinned. “No one’s ever told me I’m handsome, but I think I am. Stunningly so. I’m amazed my mirror can withstand my beauty.” And again he grinned. “And no one can tell me any different.
“Like I said.” He glanced back at the Accepted. “It’s not about what other people think. It’s what you think about yourself. You’re the only one who can change that. You shouldn’t be saying you’ll try because I believe in you. You should be trying for yourself. I’m sorry to lecture, but…” He shrugged his shoulders. “You’ll be surprised how much life changes when you stop worrying about what other people think.”