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RequitalHe leans down to the sofa, touching her shoulder.
She awakens violently. Her voice rips apart the silence, her arm winging in an arc that cracks against the side of his head.
The stinging impact brings her fully awake and she rises to see him hunched away from her, one hand raised between her and the mask. She sits, breathing, feeling the shout still in her throat. She watches him.
He moves, straightening from his awkward pose. He takes a step away to face her, murmuring distantly polite apology.
She watches him.
He takes his leave, sketching a small bow out of habit and disappearing down the corridor.
She looks down, seeing the blood on the floor where he stood. Her eyes follow the shining drops marking his departure on the flagstones.
She does not apologise.
...He never wanted her to.
Mending"You should let yourself rest... you haven't slept in over a day."
Eric Finch looked with mild disapproval at the untouched sandwich on the dresser near Evey. Her vigil over the fallen V hadn't ended since they'd returned from Evey's address - as V - to the people of London. It had been hours.
He regarded the young woman who'd talked him into treason, set loose the explosives that destroyed Parliament, and nearly single-handedly averted one of the worst riots London had ever known. She looked so fragile and unraveled here in the half-light, still wearing the remnants of the vigilante's "uniform"; it was amazing she hadn't collapsed already.
Evey looked up into Finch's concerned expression. Huge dark smudges lurked beneath her eyes and her already-ill-fitting clothes were even more rumpled from having been worn too long. "He might wake up again." She glanced over to V, lying motionless and silent once a
There was no way to ask your permission, or to prepare you. It wasn't something I wanted to do. There was no other option.
I did understand what you were trying to tell me - please believe this. I knew the face I was revealing would no more be the man I knew than the mask that covered it. I only wish it could have been by your choice.
It's so strange. We had to take away everything to get to your wounds... the mask, the wig - I never thought of it as a wig, did you know that? - the gauntlets that you so hastily put back on that first morning...
We had to peel away all of it, leaving behind a stranger in your place. Someone silent and bleeding who looked more dead than alive, staining my sheets red.
This body I tend isn't you. It's just something you've left in my care until you come back. It's something of yours, so I cherish it. I try to care for it the way I've
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More