[The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. They had been drilled into her over years of training, the crystal-clear mantra of the tortured.
Pain is an illusion. Pain is in the mind.
Her gaze flicks up from the arm to his face, mindful of a reaction. What she had said could be considered insensitive in the circumstances, but it was the truth.]
But sometimes it is a very convincing one. You've done well to move past that.
[How strange, to talk to him like that. Trying to reassure him, like he is the uncertain child. At one point, the true age gap hadn't been so vast between them. But now, as far as he is concerned, it approaches the false one "Paz" had paraded. Miller really was a good 15 years her elder, now.
She can't look away from his face, intent on studying it for differences, for similarities. Here is a man that until a few days ago, had for all intents and purposes been acting as her childish older brother. But this...
This is the face of a man that really had witnessed true Hell.
For a moment, Paz wishes she could take his aviators from him and look into his eyes, his soul. There is a perverse fascination at work, the desire to understand a heart flayed alive. How does someone who has lost everything find the will to carry on? Surely, Miller has the answer.]
You know, we should sing it for the others, for the Moira! Well, you play, I'll sing. You're not singing.
no subject
[The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them. They had been drilled into her over years of training, the crystal-clear mantra of the tortured.
Pain is an illusion. Pain is in the mind.
Her gaze flicks up from the arm to his face, mindful of a reaction. What she had said could be considered insensitive in the circumstances, but it was the truth.]
But sometimes it is a very convincing one. You've done well to move past that.
[How strange, to talk to him like that. Trying to reassure him, like he is the uncertain child. At one point, the true age gap hadn't been so vast between them. But now, as far as he is concerned, it approaches the false one "Paz" had paraded. Miller really was a good 15 years her elder, now.
She can't look away from his face, intent on studying it for differences, for similarities. Here is a man that until a few days ago, had for all intents and purposes been acting as her childish older brother. But this...
This is the face of a man that really had witnessed true Hell.
For a moment, Paz wishes she could take his aviators from him and look into his eyes, his soul. There is a perverse fascination at work, the desire to understand a heart flayed alive. How does someone who has lost everything find the will to carry on? Surely, Miller has the answer.]
You know, we should sing it for the others, for the Moira! Well, you play, I'll sing. You're not singing.
[And like that, the smile is pasted back on.]