[ Ah, this hurts. It's also somewhat out of left field, a sudden confession of something seemingly private, coming from such a small frame. He sees the nails biting into skin, hears how those words trail off, and thinks to himself that to this boy's credit, he has the courage to admit when the truth hurts.
(He doesn't want to think about his own truth, of the value of it, of the value of his own being.)
After a beat, he raises one burn-scarred hand, hovers it between the two choices. ]
Are you afraid that whatever truth this place may show you will hurt?
[ He keeps his tone placid, even; but the sentiment behind his words edge in, compassionate despite its distance. ]
no subject
(He doesn't want to think about his own truth, of the value of it, of the value of his own being.)
After a beat, he raises one burn-scarred hand, hovers it between the two choices. ]
Are you afraid that whatever truth this place may show you will hurt?
[ He keeps his tone placid, even; but the sentiment behind his words edge in, compassionate despite its distance. ]