[ People who confess to murder rarely live a whole week, if that. Otome's braced herself for it, for whatever may come, and she's braced herself to be hated, but the grief and the heartbreak and the tears in Mandricardo's eyes are much worse.
They're mirrored, really, though her own tears slip down her face and when he drops his hand back to his side, her heart breaks even further.
But she did this. There will always be consequences and she swallows the lump in her throat, the apologies that will accomplish nothing, the explanations she can't give.
Someone had told her that this might have been the cruelest part, that she had to live in dread when she could have just gone to her death like Catra had. And she thinks they were right.
Otome gazes at her hand, vision blurry with tears, then dips her head. ]
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They're mirrored, really, though her own tears slip down her face and when he drops his hand back to his side, her heart breaks even further.
But she did this. There will always be consequences and she swallows the lump in her throat, the apologies that will accomplish nothing, the explanations she can't give.
Someone had told her that this might have been the cruelest part, that she had to live in dread when she could have just gone to her death like Catra had. And she thinks they were right.
Otome gazes at her hand, vision blurry with tears, then dips her head. ]
Thank you for everything up til now, Mandricardo.
[ And she'll leave. ]