Charles held Matilda's gaze as her brother died in front of her, he found it interesting that she didn't look at Harold. Charles had taken the dirty gag out of his mouth and he was making a wet gurgling sound as air passed through his crush windpipe around the polished silver butter knife. She was still on her hands and knees, her arms were shaking with pain and exertion. Her diary was open, laying on the small of her back as Ciaran turned the pages with one hand, his other hand working between her folds, driving fingers into her dry tight channel.
She was looking at him, almost hopefully, and he smiled at her, leaning down to listen to her whisper, “Please, I want to die.” She said as tears dripped down her pale face.
It reminded him of Elizabeth, only his girl had never sounded s
