action.
Mother took her own life when I was a baby, because I was taken from her. I was imprisoned for a long time in a small village and worked to the bone and mistreated, but Father searched and searched, and he found me and brought me back home. I was so happy, I wanted everything to be that way forever.
Then, a year later, he fell deathly ill. What was I to do? I called for a fairy, but a demon came and he told me he'd give me anything I liked if I gave him a wish. So, I wished for him.
[ he can't help himself, even through his telling of "what happened" (far and still not so far from the truth), there's tears. he doesn't even seem aware of them until he feels them drop off his chin. he isn't weeping for a woman he's never met though, or a man who constantly took advantage of him, he's weeping because of this constant, painful lack of claude faustus.
both hands come up to bush the sides and backs of themselves against sticky eyelashes. ]