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Faces and Masks, am I flirting with the Rook?
She watched the shadow of guilt settle over his expression, like a cloud masking the sun.
No killing, no whoring. Her two rules.
Nothing remained of the boy he’d been. Not even his name.
His protection lay in the fact that everyone already expected the worst of him. There was a certain freedom in being scum.
A thread in the darkness, when everything was lost. A hand reaching down to draw her back from death.
“She knows I’m a shifty bastard,” Vargo said to the voices inside and outside his head. “Her mistake if she trusted me.”
“An impressive thorn, Lady Rose. But maybe you should let me do the pruning while you deal with the worms.”
“We don’t kill,” the Rook whispered to the oblivious city. “But we can destroy.”
“Trust is the thread that binds us… and the rope that hangs us.”
