[There was something to fear. The real kind. Squalid, emptying sort of fear, that had a certain scent. It carried in a way. It was an infection in troops and a pacifier of prisoners. It stirred something that made it all red around the edges, something close to pleasure but not quite... something back in the parts that were caged and locked by chemicals.
And then there was the name.
It cut like a hot knife. He didn't so much move as he seemed to compress a bit, folding inward, watching her with some parts that angry wariness, but the rest that spinal deference that the Vorbarras had earned.]
Ma'am. [Was the only answer that passed out loud.]
YOU KNOW WHAT: Just gonna put this here. CW: for psychosis, allusions of sexual predation
And then there was the name.
It cut like a hot knife. He didn't so much move as he seemed to compress a bit, folding inward, watching her with some parts that angry wariness, but the rest that spinal deference that the Vorbarras had earned.]
Ma'am. [Was the only answer that passed out loud.]