“Come now, you WOUND me.” palm presses against his own chest; humor still evident despite their SITUATION; despite the GUILT. “I’m no demon, Marian.” NOT YET.
If she didn’t look up, she didn’t have to see the face he always made when he was being melodramatic; which was often. It used to drive mother mad, even madder when her first born learned to join in her husband’s games–
No. It was a trick. Can’t trust anyone.
“Then what are you?”
Marian Hawke 