Wall says it, papers do. Prints his name in big block letters, same as the Chantry: Cedric Carsus, gone. He strains for some forgotten cousin, or an uncle's second name, but it feels too much like wishing down doom. A blessing not to spy them here, Avram, Faran. Ostara.
(Cedric was his father’s choice, and as foreign as the rest.)
"Nine, maybe." A Wintermarch baby, a winter fever. "Pretty close."
He braces between wall and willow. The points of skulls stipple his palm. A sickness like that, and people make exceptions. Did they tell the neighbours they'd burned him? Did it make them feel better of it, to pretend? To sew this chapter up neat —
A new life. Maybe they thought it'd be a better one.
"I don't," His tone slips wide, angry. Muscles it in: "I don't get the fucking point."
no subject
Wall says it, papers do. Prints his name in big block letters, same as the Chantry: Cedric Carsus, gone. He strains for some forgotten cousin, or an uncle's second name, but it feels too much like wishing down doom. A blessing not to spy them here, Avram, Faran. Ostara.
(Cedric was his father’s choice, and as foreign as the rest.)
"Nine, maybe." A Wintermarch baby, a winter fever. "Pretty close."
He braces between wall and willow. The points of skulls stipple his palm. A sickness like that, and people make exceptions. Did they tell the neighbours they'd burned him? Did it make them feel better of it, to pretend? To sew this chapter up neat —
A new life. Maybe they thought it'd be a better one.
"I don't," His tone slips wide, angry. Muscles it in: "I don't get the fucking point."