Re: [Hamartia]
Wren didn't know the newcomer from anyone else in the crowd, but there was something in the way his fingers clenched in what he was holding that spoke volumes about how he felt in the moment. It wasn't pity or horror or sadness or thrill; it was anger - and that was something Wren understood, even if he did look and smell like he didn't have a place to call home. The fact that what had happened to these girls made him so angry, when he seemed to have so very little of his own, made her like him even more.
She touched his shoulder, and her own voice was soft and anger-touched. "It looks like torture for the sake of itself," she told him, because the stains and blood weren't sexual in nature, didn't seem angry enough to be passion-driven. She didn't ask who would do this, because she knew the answer was too many people.