Re: Manor: Damian/Misha
[Without recognizing what he was doing, Damian mimicked Misha's posture and movement. He leaned back in reflection, and turned his head toward the boy's similarly. The only difference, for the moment, was his arms folded across his chest, but they would fall momentarily as letters formed on Damian's knee.] It does not matter what you think you see and hear. You aren't mad. [He frowned, watching the tap of fingers.] Philosophers have been arguing existence for centuries. If a thing, or a person, exists solely before me, does that deny its existence altogether? No, I do not think so.
[Damian blinked, a second needed for translation.] 'My tiny child.' She loved you. [It was a stupid, sentimental thing to say and Damian regretted it immediately for reasons he did not parse. He simply felt it. His lips pressed together hard and he ignored Misha's question about the room and his comments about Damian's striving to be like Mother. Instead, he turned his face away and looked at some indeterminable spot on the wall, high near the ceiling, unwaveringly. Any metaphorical door that had brooked open, ever so slightly, the moment before, now slammed shut. He chose not to respond to the question.]