how many such faces of appeal he remembers? Certainly they've blurred, after all this time.
That Power has to end.
That hand wasn't made for this.
End it now.
Stop this, she wouldn't--.
.....air harsh from his lungs, growing rapid, human fingers trembling against the handle of the gun.... doesn't move, doesn't say a word. Drop of sweat trickling off his face. ]
Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening
how many such faces of appeal he remembers? Certainly they've blurred, after all this time.
That Power has to end.
That hand wasn't made for this.
End it now.
Stop this, she wouldn't--.
.....air harsh from his lungs, growing rapid, human fingers trembling against the handle of the gun.... doesn't move, doesn't say a word. Drop of sweat trickling off his face. ]