my demons, though quiet, are never quite silenced
"Would that I did not understand it." Suddenly the tea starts to taste sour, despite the addition of the honey, and Finn hasn't noticed, but his grip has grown tight around his teacup. It's like a held breath between the silent flash of lightning and the roar of thunder; he is waiting for Cian to strike. And strike he does - whether or not his intention is to be cruel doesn't matter, not as Finn's eyes fall on the thin golden chain, not as the realisation about what he's expected to do hits home.
The teacup hits the hearth and shatters with a tinkle that is far too quiet for what Finn feels. He doesn't try to catch it, and he doesn't try to clean it up - stormy eyes are fixed upon Cian's, never leaving his face. "You wish for me to be a prostitute again," he mumbles. "You want me to--" Already the Spyglass is shaking his head and sitting back in his seat, surprising himself with the ferocity of his refusal.
"I am not a whore, Cian. That is not my job. If I were a Spyglass without the past that I have, you would not dare ask this of me."
The teacup hits the hearth and shatters with a tinkle that is far too quiet for what Finn feels. He doesn't try to catch it, and he doesn't try to clean it up - stormy eyes are fixed upon Cian's, never leaving his face. "You wish for me to be a prostitute again," he mumbles. "You want me to--" Already the Spyglass is shaking his head and sitting back in his seat, surprising himself with the ferocity of his refusal.
"I am not a whore, Cian. That is not my job. If I were a Spyglass without the past that I have, you would not dare ask this of me."
FINN
