End Of The Game

@trucidavit continued from [x]

The smile that flit across his lips was entirely unintentional – and he knew it would only provoke her further, no matter how swiftly he managed to suppress it. It was there – as clear as her rage with him – that it was an impotent emotion. There was nothing she could do to stop him – nothing she could say that would change this outcome. It was over – and her absolute refusal to accept that she could not hurt him for refusing to stay in this house was just further proof that they were no longer compatible. 

It was perhaps for the best that Miranda did not voice her opinions in regard to his mother – for his will not to strike back would surely wither, and he would feel obligated to point out the bitter truth that the only one who had fought for him as opposed to their own damaged pride was in fact his mother! She was the reason he was not in Bedlam, she was the reason he still remembered his own name, and by God, it was she who had pushed Alfred out of society to make it at all possible for Miranda and James to even access him in the first place, but oh yes – let it be believed that the ones who only took action after they believed him dead were the fucking righteous in this affair! 

As it was, all Miranda had to offer was an attack on him – a will to blame him for all of it – and a display of her own pride in the power that she now wielded over James. He saw no reason not to let her if it meant she would cease mourning a man she had buried well before he was dead. Let her have her rage, let her burn him down until there was nothing left, and perhaps by some remaining grace she would move on. His role in these tales was over – and that was the fact of it all. Whether she liked it or not. 

He stepped forward without a word – he had nothing to say to her, nothing he could say that would not be biting or cruel, and she was right about his pride. Ten years at war with the idea he could even have such a thing, that he could make any decision for himself, had him quite frankly thrilled with the power of making this call. Yet for all that, his posture was neither defiant nor threatening – there was a readiness in case she lashed out physically, but beyond that he seemed to be maintaining an effort to keep himself smaller so as not to tower or loom as he simply made to walk past her. 

He would dismiss himself, and if she fought that effort, what came next would be of her own making.