[ He can almost taste it. Christ, god, damn it. Martin will be so disappointed in him.
She's afraid of him, he registers hollowly. It should make him feel guilty; it does. It should snap him out of it, make him backtrack, make him behave like less of a monster; it doesn't.
There is no way he can explain to her that he wants to dredge up all her horror and that she should hate him for it.
There is also no way he can turn away. The threads between them are nothing compared to the hunger of the vast and terrible thing living in his mind. ]
Tell me— [ He bites off the heavy, warped resonance of power in his words. Tries again, every word careful. No compulsion for the gritty details of her trauma, just a bare question. ] Tell me about the Deep Ones.
no subject
She's afraid of him, he registers hollowly. It should make him feel guilty; it does. It should snap him out of it, make him backtrack, make him behave like less of a monster; it doesn't.
There is no way he can explain to her that he wants to dredge up all her horror and that she should hate him for it.
There is also no way he can turn away. The threads between them are nothing compared to the hunger of the vast and terrible thing living in his mind. ]
Tell me— [ He bites off the heavy, warped resonance of power in his words. Tries again, every word careful. No compulsion for the gritty details of her trauma, just a bare question. ] Tell me about the Deep Ones.