Jude
His smile is wan and unenthusiastic, but at least it is present, and he leans his head into his mother's hand as it ruffles his hair. The curls always spring back regardless of how heavy a hand is used. "It's a nice room," he says, trying to find a bright spot in this dark time. It's not, really, and it's the closest thing to a lie Jude has ever spoken. It's nice in terms of construction and size, so it's not a full lie, but it's not nice to him.
Making a noncommittal hum at her question, he shrugs his shoulders a little. "Not really, but I can eat. What is it?" He peers upward at the pot, unable to see inside. Maeve usually has him help chop and prepare the meals, but it's clear it's already nearly done.
Making a noncommittal hum at her question, he shrugs his shoulders a little. "Not really, but I can eat. What is it?" He peers upward at the pot, unable to see inside. Maeve usually has him help chop and prepare the meals, but it's clear it's already nearly done.
