[Would it? Could it? Maybe it's just his selfish wish. His own crucifixion that he deserves, by their hands. The children would realize, and would spit on him, act in revenge. He wouldn't move a muscle. A fitting end for him, at the hands of those lives he ruined.]
...I don't know.
[He doesn't know. A part of him has been too afraid to say otherwise. Selfish, so selfish. He's his own judge, jury, and executioner, but he has yet to give himself a proper sentence.]
[Silco falls silent on the other end. He blinks, waiting for a reply, and-]
[A knock.]
[He stands to answer the door, and there he is. The man himself.]
Hah? [Yeah, this is a bit unexpected.] Silco. What are you doing here?
no subject
...I don't know.
[He doesn't know. A part of him has been too afraid to say otherwise. Selfish, so selfish. He's his own judge, jury, and executioner, but he has yet to give himself a proper sentence.]
[Silco falls silent on the other end. He blinks, waiting for a reply, and-]
[A knock.]
[He stands to answer the door, and there he is. The man himself.]
Hah? [Yeah, this is a bit unexpected.] Silco. What are you doing here?