She allowed him to hold her hand and tugged her down the stairs. She was staring at his back with a broken heart. She had started like him. He was also aware of the reality, her likeness. She was an oaf to trust his created story. She must comprehend by now his mood swings. She should hear her inner voice when something wasn't fitting right. She had sensed his well built body, royalty in his every little task, his wrath and powerful nature. It was her heart that was making noises around her by pounding against her chest.
He told lies very nicely that she could think for a small second that he could be Atkinson. She didn't doubt him when he beat two goons who were looking stronger, taller and broader than him.
' How many lies have he told me? How many things have he hidden?
