"Two years ago," Crowley says, yellow eyes flickering like the afterimage of Raguel's flames. "Two years ago, I just might have let you take him."
He turns his hands over to examine his palms, fingers flexing and curling as though trying to catch the cool air he blows through them.
"Teacher taught me not to lie. Cross my heart and hope to die."
He speaks dispassionately, now, though some curious quality of the words themselves curls off his tongue and palate and seems to leave a stain. He looks at his red hands, and pictures the blotchy handprint left across River's cheek.
"Fifty needles in my eye."
"This time two years ago, I'd've been tempted to lend a helping hand, because of what he was once cowardly enough to let them do to River Tam."
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He turns his hands over to examine his palms, fingers flexing and curling as though trying to catch the cool air he blows through them.
"Teacher taught me not to lie.
Cross my heart and hope to die."
He speaks dispassionately, now, though some curious quality of the words themselves curls off his tongue and palate and seems to leave a stain. He looks at his red hands, and pictures the blotchy handprint left across River's cheek.
"Fifty needles in my eye."
"This time two years ago, I'd've been tempted to lend a helping hand, because of what he was once cowardly enough to let them do to River Tam."