you are a terribly real thing in a terribly false world
The clawing in his chest turns into something squirming and cold low in his belly as Cian continues to speak. The implication that he will not find his glasses in his rooms either suggests that they have been searched already, or that he returned without them and their absence has been reported. Finn knows which he prefers, but he dare not ask in case he does not like the answer. ”I am?”
It’s in response to everything: is he in a good position to reveal all? Is he being released today? What about the inevitable return to sickness that Doctor Hart suggested? But Finn, too elated at the prospect of closing his door on the world for a while, says nothing more - at least not until Cian mentions Molly’s, and a stripe of blue catches the corner of his eye.
Suddenly the Spyglass feels hot and cold all at once, and he can’t do a damned thing as Cian reaches over to tie the silk around his cast. But he imagines how it would feel gliding between his fingers; no, he doesn’t have to imagine it at all. He knows how it would feel, slipping across perfumed skin, fastening securely into knots and leaving no marks.
What he does imagine, is whether the Eye’s face will turn a similar colour if he tightens the bolt of blue around his neck. He imagines what it might be like, for the silk to tighten against his hands, for a last, smoky breath to rasp from between Cian’s lips. Finn has a good imagination.
”I will be sure to send my regards,” he almost whispers.
It’s in response to everything: is he in a good position to reveal all? Is he being released today? What about the inevitable return to sickness that Doctor Hart suggested? But Finn, too elated at the prospect of closing his door on the world for a while, says nothing more - at least not until Cian mentions Molly’s, and a stripe of blue catches the corner of his eye.
Suddenly the Spyglass feels hot and cold all at once, and he can’t do a damned thing as Cian reaches over to tie the silk around his cast. But he imagines how it would feel gliding between his fingers; no, he doesn’t have to imagine it at all. He knows how it would feel, slipping across perfumed skin, fastening securely into knots and leaving no marks.
What he does imagine, is whether the Eye’s face will turn a similar colour if he tightens the bolt of blue around his neck. He imagines what it might be like, for the silk to tighten against his hands, for a last, smoky breath to rasp from between Cian’s lips. Finn has a good imagination.
”I will be sure to send my regards,” he almost whispers.
and that, I believe
is why you are in so much pain
FINN
