(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

that I might speak.
"I will never hurt you again..."
Of all the lies he'd spoken, the last was the cruelest. Beneath the veil he had
terrible plans for her. I wanted to stop, but I pressed Grace's hands to my
head tight, urging myself to go on. I knew that if I tried to wipe the wetness
from my cheeks that Grace would pull away and try to comfort me, and I
wouldn't be able to bear going under again.
"I have never left Sigil before."
I look up at her from our meal, an oyster inches from my lips. "Really? You
always struck me as the curious type. Didn't you ever hunger for real
experiences outside of the Cage?"
"Of course I did," Deionarra murmurs, drawing a spoon through her soup.
She sighs bitterly, "But father has always worried about my constitution. I've
told you how often I took ill as a child. Every month he would send for a
healer."
She smiles then, "But now I feel... revitalized."
"He's sheltered you for too long, Deionarra. I'm surprised he hadn't had you
stuffed and placed on the mantel so he'd know where you were at all times."
"He's been like this ever since mother died. He worked so hard to save her
life, to try to change the stars when she first foretold her own death," for a
moment she seems sympathetic, "He must feel that I'm all he has left of
her."
"Exactly. He doesn't love you for who you are, Deionarra," I say, subtly
twisting her words, "When he looks at you he sees only what he's lost. The
man is clingy. He's needy. So long as he's got you by the hem of your dress
you'll never reach your full potential." I'd already gotten reports of the
heated arguments from their household. The words were hers, the sharp
accusations, but I'd been planting the ideas in her head for weeks now.
"So tomorrow then, at First Rise?" her words are softer now, dreamier.
I remain silent then, and look at her sadly, "No, Deionarra. You can't come
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