[Wishful thinking it was to think that Theseus wouldn't pick up on such a tremendous misstep.
And he means to reply. To retort with something back. To say something. But all he does is open his mouth a few times before closing it again. How can he really? How could he say to Theseus, his own brother, that he had died before. That he knows how it feels.
That someone else he loves had experienced such a thing.
So he just stands there silently looking down at his feet; nails digging into the palm of his hand uselessly. How he wants to fuss and fidget, but one arm is broken and tucked against his chest. A rather pitiful sight.]
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And he means to reply. To retort with something back. To say something. But all he does is open his mouth a few times before closing it again. How can he really? How could he say to Theseus, his own brother, that he had died before. That he knows how it feels.
That someone else he loves had experienced such a thing.
So he just stands there silently looking down at his feet; nails digging into the palm of his hand uselessly. How he wants to fuss and fidget, but one arm is broken and tucked against his chest. A rather pitiful sight.]