Knives out.

It was wrong, war, but no use would come of defiance; the power held over him was too crushing to defy. Even as he voiced a whisper of protest, it sounded to himself -- heard only by the apathetic mercy of the Moons, or perhaps the girl Larkin had been dancing with. The oppression he grew to know became suddenly tangible, letting its finger touch his neck as his heart collapsed. There would be no doubt of the Shrike's evil anymore, he thought again, biting harshly at the inside of his lip.

And the betrayal was now just as real, after denying it having ever happened. It was more real than the blood in his mouth, than the hands on his shoulders, or the shameless joy of shadowed faces. All that he'd seen and been through was beginning to tear at his reason, and he felt himself wondering if there ever was such a thing as kindness.

He wavered slightly, the calamity of it clouding his mind and numbing his body. But he wasn't aware of the cause he had for his acts; it was lost somewhere within the second realization of his treachery, invisibly clutching to its reason. But still, he thought for a moment; if the Shrike hadn't decieved him, then he would at least have someone to share the hurt with. Perhaps, Miraye would understand.

Tic let his head hang, hair falling over the tearful eyes, to hide them from the stares. He felt himself will for it all to disappear; anywhere, but here, in front of all the evil. But the hope he so wanted was drifting still; not completely expunged, and he lifted his own eyes again to meet the girl's.