William doesn't watch the sword fall. What is there to see? A spray of blood, the head rolling once so its eyes can stare vacant at a gray sky, all for shock value. No, as the prisoner meets his end, it's the crowd William observes—the leers and the expressions held at strict attention, the way death sags their posture or leaves them in a sigh.
He's not sure what he's looking for. (He's looking for Dolores. Dolores in someone else's anguish.) He hopes he'll know it when he sees it.
A girl flinches. She clenches her fists as if to hold herself back, and William remembers Logan's men tightening the knots at his ankles. Logan's 100-proof breath in his face. He looks back at the scene, the body being cleared away, long enough to satisfy himself that it's over.
He doesn't decide to do it—just takes a few steps and rests a hand on her shoulder.
execution, obvs
William doesn't watch the sword fall. What is there to see? A spray of blood, the head rolling once so its eyes can stare vacant at a gray sky, all for shock value. No, as the prisoner meets his end, it's the crowd William observes—the leers and the expressions held at strict attention, the way death sags their posture or leaves them in a sigh.
He's not sure what he's looking for. (He's looking for Dolores. Dolores in someone else's anguish.) He hopes he'll know it when he sees it.
A girl flinches. She clenches her fists as if to hold herself back, and William remembers Logan's men tightening the knots at his ankles. Logan's 100-proof breath in his face. He looks back at the scene, the body being cleared away, long enough to satisfy himself that it's over.
He doesn't decide to do it—just takes a few steps and rests a hand on her shoulder.