It was unbelievably easy.
Pale-bluish green eyes, the colour of a lake, frozen, of a drowned person trapped beneath ice. Hair like mud in the middle of the jungle, and not mahogany, as he vainly said. (His reaction to that was even funnier.)
Sometimes she would look at him and see his son instead.
Gone, Cecil was, like a drop of blood dissolved in water.
Torn apart by bullets, decapitated, bruised and swollen face frozen in one last scream.
Silent.
Her own screams were not silent,though, they sliced through the night as she fled, but there was no one to hear. No one except Marcus and those armed men.
Then everything was gone.
But there he would be, staring at her, or smiling at her. Now that was rare.
And of course she had to try, because Marcus really believed that smiling more often would kill him. (and because it was so fun!)
He was so alike his son
The resemblance was unsettling.
That was sort of the point, actually. Pretending that Cecil was still alive.
Everything about him reminded her of Cecil.
Alright, maybe Marcus was a little bit more cruel.
But basically they were the same. (That was what mattered, wasn't it? Wasn't it?)
Unbelievably easy.
Too easy, almost.
Sometimes she could not( perhaps, only perhaps, she did not want to) tell the difference.
