Voss sat on his throne and Craven Lorne paced.
“I know I said I was going to pay her back,” Craven said nervously, stepping around a disused stepladder. “But you've seen her, Voss. I don't think she remembers any of it. I don't think she knows what she's done.”
Voss looked sad. His head hung forward, his mask seemed to frown. His crisp white suit wrinkled in dismay.
“No one hates her for it more than I do,” Craven assured him. “And if thought she knew—or if I thought she did it on purpose—” Craven could feel Voss growing angry. “I know what I said, but I don't think we should kill her. I think she's suffered enough.”
Voss sat up, his eyeless silver mask staring at Craven – and he spoke the first words he had spoken to Craven in a very long time. “You don't love me.”
Craven Lorne tripped over his protests, fought back tears, sputtered, clamoured, begged for mercy and forgiveness, begged for Voss to understand that there was nothing he wouldn't do – only it didn't seem right, and he begged as well, not to be made to kill the rabbit girl.here.