His voice is small and struggling, and his eyes are shut again.
"When I -- I found the knife, and I tried to -- it was to escape. I promised I wouldn't and then -- and He stopped me before I could, but -- but He didn't --"
A scraping breath, halfway to a sob. "He could have said the deal was forfeit. And He didn't."
"Not --" He swallows, breathes out again. "Not necessarily. Only if ... if the body was injured too badly to survive without the demon. It's not like with angels."
(He doesn't notice that he's shifted from the specific to the general, but at some level it's helping; he's calmer by the end of the sentence.)
"No, that's what I mean -- that only happens with angels. If they don't deliberately keep the vessel's original soul alive. But with demons, if they're exorcised or if they just move out to a different body ... the original person's still in there. Unless the body dies."
"Andrew -- I do understand why you agreed to follow some of his orders." Her voice is low, but earnest. "You had no other choice. In your place I think I would do the same." She shakes her head again. "I did do much the same."
"A lover of mine was kidnapped," she says, finally, "a year or so ago, by men who sought to secure my inheritance for their own use. And I would have given anything to keep him safe and whole. I would have agreed to anything."
There is an undercurrent of chagrin in her tone, something just short of shame. She looks down at her hands in her lap. "I said I would be willing to wed his kidnapper. And if circumstances had not been what they were" -- a deep breath -- "I would have kept to that agreement. I would have looked for a way out, yes, but . . ."
She shakes her head, still not looking at him. "And Grue de Agen had not the tenth of the power of your Lucifer. He could have harmed my body, my mind, my friend, but if I had taken my life, that would have been the end of it. And yet--"
She probably should have seen that coming. Even D'Angelines get weird about the idea that anyone outside Valerian might have a taste for sharper pleasures. And as much as she enjoys scandalizing the City's high society on occasion, this is not the time.
"I'm sorry. Does that make you uncomfortable? I can get something to cover them."
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(I beg of you to reconsider)
"I understand."
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"But I broke the deal."
His voice is small and struggling, and his eyes are shut again.
"When I -- I found the knife, and I tried to -- it was to escape. I promised I wouldn't and then -- and He stopped me before I could, but -- but He didn't --"
A scraping breath, halfway to a sob. "He could have said the deal was forfeit. And He didn't."
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"If he allowed her to possess you, you would be truly dead, sooner or later. Is that not so?"
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(He doesn't notice that he's shifted from the specific to the general, but at some level it's helping; he's calmer by the end of the sentence.)
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"Not your body. You. Andrew Wells, your soul, would die after some time if you were possessed. Or have I misunderstood?"
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"Still. It seems he'd rather have you alive and yourself, to serve him."
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"And you did agree to follow his orders, so that he would not give you to Meg."
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"Andrew -- I do understand why you agreed to follow some of his orders." Her voice is low, but earnest. "You had no other choice. In your place I think I would do the same." She shakes her head again. "I did do much the same."
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And, slowly, develops a deep line between his brows.
"... When?" he asks, low.
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"A lover of mine was kidnapped," she says, finally, "a year or so ago, by men who sought to secure my inheritance for their own use. And I would have given anything to keep him safe and whole. I would have agreed to anything."
There is an undercurrent of chagrin in her tone, something just short of shame. She looks down at her hands in her lap. "I said I would be willing to wed his kidnapper. And if circumstances had not been what they were" -- a deep breath -- "I would have kept to that agreement. I would have looked for a way out, yes, but . . ."
She shakes her head, still not looking at him. "And Grue de Agen had not the tenth of the power of your Lucifer. He could have harmed my body, my mind, my friend, but if I had taken my life, that would have been the end of it. And yet--"
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"I get it."
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"I think you might understand as few others would."
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He gestures, half unconsciously, to his own throat.
"Did someone hurt you?"
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She lifts a hand to the bruises on her throat.
"Not in any ways I didn't wish."
That, at least, she isn't self-conscious about.
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"Oh." Almost soundlessly.
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"I'm sorry. Does that make you uncomfortable? I can get something to cover them."
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He shakes his head, drawing in on himself again. "Stupid of me."
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She half smiles.
"I didn't think you'd be so concerned for me. But I thank you for it."
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