[ She's shaking her head against him, with her hands balled up into fists, unsure of she wants to be comforted. Ten years in Rutledge and she could have stayed in there longer. She's ashamed of it; when she would walk the streets of London, there would be passing gazes, fingers pointed, and terrible comments. All of that gossip -- mad Alice Liddell, who burned down her family's house.
She had simply woke up one day, surprising the staff of Rutledge and even stood in front of a court, accused of setting the fire in a psychotic episode. It seemed for naught, especially as everyone still accused her of it. Wild speculations run through her head; had all of it been masterminded by Bumby himself to cover his crimes? In her trauma, Alice had sculpted a memory of her cat knocking down the oil lamp in her room, when it had been Bumby.
She doesn't budge. It feels relieving to speak of it, as much as it hurts. He is one of the few and arguably the first to hear the details of her past in the gruesome details.She's had terrible episodes where Alice had became violent against herself and hallucinated. Not now, she's gently weeping openly against him. It's exhausting, the whole twelve years mourning her family has been exhausting.
It's one step closer to make amends it was out of her hands. Not insane, he says; she still holds her doubts. ]
I'm alone again. Please don't leave me alone again.
no subject
[ She's shaking her head against him, with her hands balled up into fists, unsure of she wants to be comforted. Ten years in Rutledge and she could have stayed in there longer. She's ashamed of it; when she would walk the streets of London, there would be passing gazes, fingers pointed, and terrible comments. All of that gossip -- mad Alice Liddell, who burned down her family's house.
She had simply woke up one day, surprising the staff of Rutledge and even stood in front of a court, accused of setting the fire in a psychotic episode. It seemed for naught, especially as everyone still accused her of it. Wild speculations run through her head; had all of it been masterminded by Bumby himself to cover his crimes? In her trauma, Alice had sculpted a memory of her cat knocking down the oil lamp in her room, when it had been Bumby.
She doesn't budge. It feels relieving to speak of it, as much as it hurts. He is one of the few and arguably the first to hear the details of her past in the gruesome details.She's had terrible episodes where Alice had became violent against herself and hallucinated. Not now, she's gently weeping openly against him. It's exhausting, the whole twelve years mourning her family has been exhausting.
It's one step closer to make amends it was out of her hands. Not insane, he says; she still holds her doubts. ]
I'm alone again. Please don't leave me alone again.