A tiny smile curves at the corner of Palamedes’ mouth. It’s been nearly two months since someone called him Warden, or spoke to him with the self-serious formality of official House communications. As always, Harrow makes it sounds like they are negotiating contested territory and not discussing medical care—though perhaps, in this instance, the two are not so very different from each other.
“It is.” As he moves closer to Harrow, his gaze flickers up to meet Gideon’s. He can’t answer her question for certain; all he has are hunches, and he needs more data. And he needs it quickly if he’s going to figure out how to fix the damage before Harrow’s brain fluid starts leaking out of her ears again.
Again, carefully, he put his hands on Harrow’s head. In another time and another place, it might look like he’s bestowing a benediction—or conducting a mind meld. Beneath her skull, Harrow’s temporal lobes are like Swiss cheese, and there’s something else as well, something he doesn’t even need psychometry to figure out. The bone plates themselves are all wrong…
“She has re-written her memory centers,” he tells Gideon. “And shaped her skull in a way that ensures the brain cannot repair itself.” He thinks he knows why, too, and it’s dreadful, as horrifying as the Lyctoral process itself. But there’s no time to explain that, no time for Gideon to process it. Palamedes isn’t sure it’s his place to tell, anyway.
“Nonagesimus, the concept of penance is irrational,” he says with exacting patience. “I meant what I said before. We need to repair the damage.”
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-05-21 03:12 pm (UTC)“It is.” As he moves closer to Harrow, his gaze flickers up to meet Gideon’s. He can’t answer her question for certain; all he has are hunches, and he needs more data. And he needs it quickly if he’s going to figure out how to fix the damage before Harrow’s brain fluid starts leaking out of her ears again.
Again, carefully, he put his hands on Harrow’s head. In another time and another place, it might look like he’s bestowing a benediction—or conducting a mind meld. Beneath her skull, Harrow’s temporal lobes are like Swiss cheese, and there’s something else as well, something he doesn’t even need psychometry to figure out. The bone plates themselves are all wrong…
“She has re-written her memory centers,” he tells Gideon. “And shaped her skull in a way that ensures the brain cannot repair itself.” He thinks he knows why, too, and it’s dreadful, as horrifying as the Lyctoral process itself. But there’s no time to explain that, no time for Gideon to process it. Palamedes isn’t sure it’s his place to tell, anyway.
“Nonagesimus, the concept of penance is irrational,” he says with exacting patience. “I meant what I said before. We need to repair the damage.”