open | prompt six | DEMONS

[wrens]

prompt six | D E M O N S be careful in casting out your devil ‘lest you cast out the best thing about you. ( friedrich nietzsche )

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[inheritancy]

[ (It hadn't been pretty, and he regrets that — he always will.

I was so f-fucking stupid to think you could love me.

Accusations and the edge of a knife. You don't just get over things like that — Francis has seen more than his fair share of horrors, he knows better than most.)

His eyes flicker from her to the bundle in her arms, the whole of his expression softening, the change more obvious the longer he stares. ] S-sorry, [ is what he says, in the end. (The word's still one he's trying to wean himself off of, though recent events have made it harder than ever.) ] No, I should. I never — really did before, I guess.

[hardship]

[ (There are some truths that are better off hidden, words that hit too hard or cut too deep or do nothing but wound and wound again. I was so fucking stupid to think you could love me — it should never have been said, but Francis did and once those words were uttered there was nothing Phillipa could possibly do to heal herself other than simply forget.

And so she locks it away, a truth she once knew but that she chooses to forget. Like mother, like daughter perhaps; but Phillipa is determined to stop the cycle with her, to end these rhythms of bitterness and hardship that make both her and Francis slaves to themselves.)

It gives her hope whenever she sees that softness in Francis' expression and knows it for what it is: what made her love him in the first place — a good and gentle heart. In her arms, their child gives a small twist and then yawns. ] You had other people to talk to about it. [ The doctors, the counselors; the parole board. Phillipa, on the other hand, had no one. Just her own reflection in the bathroom mirror and baby Francis as he slept on the bed beside her. ] It didn't have to be me.

[ She wanted it to be her, god, how she wanted that. But that's a selfish thought and selflessness is what Francis needs. (Phillipa wants him to be happy, no matter what the cost. If that means a heavier load for herself then so be it.) ]

[inheritancy]

[ That's the worst part of their story: they're both good people. They're just stuck in a bad place. Lifted from the jaws of circumstance, they could have been happy (there's no question about it, their hearts are kind). To a degree, they are, but they bear scars now, and they both know that scars fade but never disappear with time. Time does not bring back the dead bodies that color the trails of their respective paths. ]

It should have, [ he says, speaking too quickly to be able to stumble over his words, ducking his head so that his chin tips further and further down toward his chest. The implication: I didn't have them. I didn't have a choice. I did with you. ]

How much— how m-much did you hear?

[ From the doctors, from the counselors, from the parole board, from anyone. ]