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ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅᴍᴀɪᴅ. (
2012-09-14 02:48 am (UTC)
In the grand scheme of things, her options were limited.
That was a generous term for it, she supposed. She had no choice but to stay and serve. Even death had been taken away from her, held up like a prize that she would fix her eyes on from the time they were yellow until she matured and they became the same rust as her blood.
In conflict, there was always the decision to make -- fight or flight. Flight had been stolen from her, and all the running in the world (or many worlds) wasn’t enough to escape Lord English. She could weigh the scenario again and again.
She may be trapped. She may be hopeless.
But that didn’t mean she was going to take it.
“Are you trying to fucking woo me now?” she sneered, shifting her stance. “You may think you got it all figured out, but you’re wrong about one thing. No death that you can give me will ever be miserable. You can make it painful. A living fucking nightmare if you want. Maybe I’ll scream. Maybe I’ll be so twisted in pain the only sounds I make will be strangled cries. But I can guarantee one thing -- I ain’t going to be crying for help. Torture the shit out of me, if you want, because so long as I’m dying, I got all the time in the world.”
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