Octavius' face is--unexpected. Atticus stares back at his son, whose startled expression must be a mirror of Benedict's own; it's intolerable, watching him debase himself like this, even knowing that his presence at all is the work of Benedict's imagining.
It is undoubtedly a projection of his own will that has Octavius remove himself from the bed with more dignity and composure than the boy likely possesses in life. Atticus wills him to dress himself with his back turned, then turns an incising stare on Benedict where he remains pathetically chained. He raises his eyebrows, unsympathetic. "No?" he repeats, slowly approaching the bedside, and if behind him the rain hurls itself with even more terrifying intensity against the glass, Atticus doesn't bother to temper it. The howl of the wind sounds more like a pained moan.
He leans in and seizes hold of the chain still attached to the bed frame. "This is a cage of your own making. Why protest against it now?"
(He's speaking to himself more than he realizes--Benedict is just an effective lightning rod.)
In theory, Benedict could will all of this back to how it was; but one of them is a somniari, and the other is not. He's at the mercy of the stronger influence, and thus he remains naked and chained, now without Octavius or anything distracting him from the monster in the room. Needless to say, any enjoyment he was feeling-- or showing-- has effectively vanished.
"I did what I had to," he frantically insists, giving a fruitless tug at his bonds, "I couldn't spend my life in a cell!"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2019-02-12 09:37 pm (UTC)It is undoubtedly a projection of his own will that has Octavius remove himself from the bed with more dignity and composure than the boy likely possesses in life. Atticus wills him to dress himself with his back turned, then turns an incising stare on Benedict where he remains pathetically chained. He raises his eyebrows, unsympathetic. "No?" he repeats, slowly approaching the bedside, and if behind him the rain hurls itself with even more terrifying intensity against the glass, Atticus doesn't bother to temper it. The howl of the wind sounds more like a pained moan.
He leans in and seizes hold of the chain still attached to the bed frame. "This is a cage of your own making. Why protest against it now?"
(He's speaking to himself more than he realizes--Benedict is just an effective lightning rod.)
no subject
Date: 2019-02-12 10:05 pm (UTC)Needless to say, any enjoyment he was feeling-- or showing-- has effectively vanished.
"I did what I had to," he frantically insists, giving a fruitless tug at his bonds, "I couldn't spend my life in a cell!"