[ He doesn't. He doesn't remember. But she remembers. She has blood on her hands and a harsh-faced memory of a blade that killed her, and he can remember her clear as day, "Hannibal slit my throat."
It got him, too. But he doesn't remember.
But she does.
She says not to touch but his hands move out at once, to slip underneath her hair and his fingers feel and he touches at nothing, a chasm, a blank spot where her ear used to be and he feels burned by it. He kept her alive. He kept her alive? ]
What did he do to you?
[ He asks at once, ignoring her bloodied hands pointed at him and holding firmly her head in his hands. ] What did he do to you?
spam
It got him, too. But he doesn't remember.
But she does.
She says not to touch but his hands move out at once, to slip underneath her hair and his fingers feel and he touches at nothing, a chasm, a blank spot where her ear used to be and he feels burned by it. He kept her alive. He kept her alive? ]
What did he do to you?
[ He asks at once, ignoring her bloodied hands pointed at him and holding firmly her head in his hands. ] What did he do to you?