His mouth is half a sneer, half a smirk, though he doesn't feel like smirking at all. It's reflex, to make faces like he's looking at something lowly. It makes him feel further away from the situation— and this is definitely a situation he'd like to be far from. So the shape of his lips lie for him.
"What, Ciel, what? Do you think I'm going to cross my fingers at the altar or something? That's nice, yes, thank you. But don't fucking act like you don't play the lying game just as well. And don't act like you have more of yourself to lord over me." It's a sore spot. Ciel is just as splintered - or, almost. Never mind the heart, at least.
He touches a finger to just underneath his right eye, smarmy the whole time, and then spreads his arms wide in gesture. "Because if you want to put it that way, you can have as much of me as you can see."
He knows his cheeks are still pale from his fright, and he knows it's made worse by how awful this is making him feel, but he doesn't have it in him to be pliant. He's a pot of water left too long on the stove, and his insides are hissing fiercely, now.
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"What, Ciel, what? Do you think I'm going to cross my fingers at the altar or something? That's nice, yes, thank you. But don't fucking act like you don't play the lying game just as well. And don't act like you have more of yourself to lord over me." It's a sore spot. Ciel is just as splintered - or, almost. Never mind the heart, at least.
He touches a finger to just underneath his right eye, smarmy the whole time, and then spreads his arms wide in gesture. "Because if you want to put it that way, you can have as much of me as you can see."
He knows his cheeks are still pale from his fright, and he knows it's made worse by how awful this is making him feel, but he doesn't have it in him to be pliant. He's a pot of water left too long on the stove, and his insides are hissing fiercely, now.