There were far more important matters to be dealt with at hand than the petty things he felt. He seldom allowed what he may feel to interfere with responsibilities placed in the cupped basin of his scarred hands; he had learned from a young age that allowing the domination of heart over mind and reason spelled a bloody sentence. From but the age of a wee lad he assumed positions never quite fit for him, had became a man far too early. Alison, the faithful sister she is, ceaselessly attempted to coax EMOTION from the depths of where they sat under lock and key. She never succeeded, of course, but that never stopped her. And even now, with subtly trembling hands and hunched shoulders, it’s not to be.
Jaw set in f r u s t r a t i o n she forced herself to swallow down the venomous words that were clawing their way up her throat. Because they were not aimed at him, but at the father that took his childhood and turned him into this; steel. She should be used to it it by now, her brother has n e v e r been one to wear his heart on his sleeve; men are supposed to be pillars of strength. Unfaltering even under the crushing weight of life, and Filip would not budge. She knew her efforts were in vain —-try as she might she couldn’t draw his true feelings from him.
❝Deartháir… brother, I wish ye knew how wrong ye were.❞
