*Blake*
She takes the snifter from me, setting it aside. She holds my hand with one of mine and with the other she trails her fingers over the scar, as though reading a tale. “It was late. Dark. Only a sliver of a moon in the sky. I should have been in my room in the northwest tower, but sleep eluded me. Which is odd, as I was exhausted from my turn at scrubbing the floors. Miss N could not tolerate the filth. Neither could I. A man should have a clean place in which to die.”
Tightening her hold on my hand, she shakes her head quickly, as though her story has taken a turn she doesn't wish it to take, and she needs to get it out of her mind. she once again begins dancing her fingers over my damaged skin. “It was dark, late. I was walking”.
She is repeating herself and I might suspect she is
