[ His voice is light, smooth, polished. But his face is leaden in its control. His eyes fix on the ground by his feet - looking at the familiar knot in the wood, the little imperfection he'd stare at and concentrate on so hard as he tried to just hypnotize himself into not hearing any of it. Not sensing any of it. It never worked then, and it doesn't work now - everything is as sharp as it always was. ]
I was innocent of everything he accused me of. Of course I knew that. [ Usually. Sometimes he wondered - the firmness with which Father believed it, he wondered if maybe he hadn't gone mad - But Nadine always reeled him back in. ] Of course I knew he was wrong.
no subject
[ His voice is light, smooth, polished. But his face is leaden in its control. His eyes fix on the ground by his feet - looking at the familiar knot in the wood, the little imperfection he'd stare at and concentrate on so hard as he tried to just hypnotize himself into not hearing any of it. Not sensing any of it. It never worked then, and it doesn't work now - everything is as sharp as it always was. ]
I was innocent of everything he accused me of. Of course I knew that. [ Usually. Sometimes he wondered - the firmness with which Father believed it, he wondered if maybe he hadn't gone mad - But Nadine always reeled him back in. ] Of course I knew he was wrong.