Voice soft, intent. She narrows her eyes as she gazes at him, not sure what best to say, not sure what to do, but she turns and glances back at the image of her father behind her. Now that she has stepped away it seems as though the focus of the memory is less sure, more shaken; he flickers, spirit-like and dangerous, hands flicking pages. Six swallows, rubbing her palm flat against her bruised lip, pushing the blood away from her skin.
No one has asked before. Everyone knows, of course they do, but no one has asked. They all ignore the colour of her bruises and the scars she gathers, the marks of a doorknob or a ring cutting through her face, her shoulder, her wrist. It's not their business and perhaps they think she deserves it, the awkward, wayward lump that is his daughter.
Shaking her head, she frowns, looking anywhere but John's open face.
"I won't suffer more than I would anyway, sir." Short, to the point. "I woke him late. I didn't have the tea ready. It - It will be fine. All will be well."
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Voice soft, intent. She narrows her eyes as she gazes at him, not sure what best to say, not sure what to do, but she turns and glances back at the image of her father behind her. Now that she has stepped away it seems as though the focus of the memory is less sure, more shaken; he flickers, spirit-like and dangerous, hands flicking pages. Six swallows, rubbing her palm flat against her bruised lip, pushing the blood away from her skin.
No one has asked before. Everyone knows, of course they do, but no one has asked. They all ignore the colour of her bruises and the scars she gathers, the marks of a doorknob or a ring cutting through her face, her shoulder, her wrist. It's not their business and perhaps they think she deserves it, the awkward, wayward lump that is his daughter.
Shaking her head, she frowns, looking anywhere but John's open face.
"I won't suffer more than I would anyway, sir." Short, to the point. "I woke him late. I didn't have the tea ready. It - It will be fine. All will be well."