[The shreds fall just as prettily as snow. She does a more thorough job now than she'd made of her first attempt, fettered with rage it had been. Richie's eyes follow each flutter of paper. So long, flash of rats, scared kids and long shadows. Adios, ceramic tile and waxen skin, water run rosey and wrists undone. He doesn't breathe much easier, but it helps. A kind gesture to be sure.
She asks for the last photo standing. To this, Richie shakes his head. Illogical, but he can't allow it.]
no subject
She asks for the last photo standing. To this, Richie shakes his head. Illogical, but he can't allow it.]
I can't let you touch it.