He couldn't help the hesitation. Those words swirled around in the child's brain like ice water on flesh, and he could not comprehend the points raised. Nigredo had admitted no differently the night before: death was a conclusion, wanted in more ways than even the thought of his father could provoke. He needed to kill the being who happened to share everything but temperament. Maybe even that. This tone touched close to what the child had heard on previous occasions, passed to himself in an attempt for discipline and control.
But why? Why speak of sentiments he already knew? There existed no reason in the repetition, especially in front of a stranger--no, a friend. And she had to echo thoughts, too. It wasn't like he had never heard her the first time.
His arms lowered a fraction of an inch, and the variant chose silence as an answer.
This seemed only to prompt his mirror, who canted a head to one side to better glance at the figures. "Maybe," he murmured, "but she is not yours. You're only tolerating her because she is a little weird. Excuse me, 'unique'." Here, the shadow made a face, scrunching his lips as if withholding laughter. "Once she shows that she can't be trusted--that she is really your enemy--you'll kill her, right? I mean, don't you think they're all the same? Just like Father. And the standards. Citrine and Albedo. Or--"
The barrel tilted sharply upward toward the ceiling, gunfire echoing in the hallway, smoke and powder and debris filling the air. "Don't!" He could not understand the line of logic, but he knew more than enough to want it to stop. "Don't talk about them..." Like that. In front of someone else. Now.
no subject
But why? Why speak of sentiments he already knew? There existed no reason in the repetition, especially in front of a stranger--no, a friend. And she had to echo thoughts, too. It wasn't like he had never heard her the first time.
His arms lowered a fraction of an inch, and the variant chose silence as an answer.
This seemed only to prompt his mirror, who canted a head to one side to better glance at the figures. "Maybe," he murmured, "but she is not yours. You're only tolerating her because she is a little weird. Excuse me, 'unique'." Here, the shadow made a face, scrunching his lips as if withholding laughter. "Once she shows that she can't be trusted--that she is really your enemy--you'll kill her, right? I mean, don't you think they're all the same? Just like Father. And the standards. Citrine and Albedo. Or--"
The barrel tilted sharply upward toward the ceiling, gunfire echoing in the hallway, smoke and powder and debris filling the air. "Don't!" He could not understand the line of logic, but he knew more than enough to want it to stop. "Don't talk about them..." Like that. In front of someone else. Now.