He knows pain. Sounds like this— it’s been such a long time, but— the hollowness of torment, isolated. The way someone gives up railing against it as their body starts to fail. Two hundred years of it, witnessed in detail each night, though the voices changed.
He doesn’t need to see anything to know what he’s listening to, at least not in some respects. The noise is enough. Her expression, the trembling lines of her body.
His hand curls, cold, around Ellie’s own as he kneels down beside her. He isn’t wrenching the knife from her, only stilling it with chilled fingers.
no subject
He knows pain. Sounds like this— it’s been such a long time, but— the hollowness of torment, isolated. The way someone gives up railing against it as their body starts to fail. Two hundred years of it, witnessed in detail each night, though the voices changed.
He doesn’t need to see anything to know what he’s listening to, at least not in some respects. The noise is enough. Her expression, the trembling lines of her body.
His hand curls, cold, around Ellie’s own as he kneels down beside her. He isn’t wrenching the knife from her, only stilling it with chilled fingers.