He could knock her hand away. He could grip it again, feel her bones grind together - a thought that appeals. But instead he merely stands, looking at her, hating her but not only hating her, and unable to deny the truth of what she says.
No matter how much he wishes it were no truth at all.
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Date: 2013-11-04 04:01 am (UTC)No matter how much he wishes it were no truth at all.
"You know nothing of my blood."