"You...you built a life here. You started out a prisoner and worked your way up from it. You made friends. You even seemed a bit happy, sometimes. You were willing to give it up for her because she's your mother. So you went with her. I'm guessing you're not in here for nothing, so you must have given them something besides your shard. Now here you are, paying your share and hers, and she's done nothing to stop it. Nothing to protect you."
Colin leans in, and his diction sounds uncharacteristically edged.
Falling silent to listen, Benedict's face is morose, his elbows folded over his drawn-up knees. His mother is a monster. He knows this, he's known it for a long time, even if he couldn't admit it. Typically, the only time he can is when it's put him in trouble.
Most telling, she isn't here. He may be stupid, but she isn't.
He sighs in resignation, angling his head as much against Colin's shoulder as he can, though the bars largely block it. What is there to say? He's been had. His whole life. And now it's over.
There's no way to press a kiss to the top of Benedict's head the way he wants to. What does he have to say that could make a difference now? Encouraging resentment against the person who put him in this situation won't help him go into the next world with peace. Or will it?
It's the first time in many years Colin has considered praying. Except he wants to pray that the Maker is real and merciful, and he's not sure to whom he should direct that prayer. He wants to go to the Maker and ask what He is, and tell him he's no good to anyone if he sends people into oblivion based on a technicality of borders and stupid mistakes, rather than important things like being evil. He'd trade a lot if he could just put his arms around Benedict properly for the next few hours.
The occasional small conversation punctuates the rest of the night, but most of it is spent just sitting, even dozing once or twice on Benedict's part-- he's exhausted-- but largely just waiting, watching the sky slowly brighten through the tiny window until there's enough light to pick out individual bricks in the dungeon wall.
Delirious from fear and fatigue, Benedict jerks awake when, a while past dawn, one of the upper doors creaks open. He wrenches his hand away from where it was holding Colin's with a hiss of "go," scooting away to hug his arms around himself with a last despondent glance. If Colin is caught here, he could be in huge trouble.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Colin leans in, and his diction sounds uncharacteristically edged.
"She failed you. Fuck her."
no subject
His mother is a monster. He knows this, he's known it for a long time, even if he couldn't admit it. Typically, the only time he can is when it's put him in trouble.
Most telling, she isn't here. He may be stupid, but she isn't.
He sighs in resignation, angling his head as much against Colin's shoulder as he can, though the bars largely block it. What is there to say? He's been had. His whole life. And now it's over.
no subject
It's the first time in many years Colin has considered praying. Except he wants to pray that the Maker is real and merciful, and he's not sure to whom he should direct that prayer. He wants to go to the Maker and ask what He is, and tell him he's no good to anyone if he sends people into oblivion based on a technicality of borders and stupid mistakes, rather than important things like being evil. He'd trade a lot if he could just put his arms around Benedict properly for the next few hours.
no subject
Delirious from fear and fatigue, Benedict jerks awake when, a while past dawn, one of the upper doors creaks open. He wrenches his hand away from where it was holding Colin's with a hiss of "go," scooting away to hug his arms around himself with a last despondent glance. If Colin is caught here, he could be in huge trouble.
Time to face the music.