Romial was crying when Otmakla entered the room in a quick and economical motion. Great sobs could be heard from under the sheets. Otmakla approached and sat on the edge of the bed, her thigh touching Romial’s back. He was curled up on the bed, knees held by his arms to his chest.
When she touched him his voice choked, he coughed and another sob escaped him, replaced by whimpers, as he tried to stifle his crying.
‘You will have to come out of the room tomorrow’, she said.
She decided this would be the best course of action. He was cooped up in the tiny room she gave him for the last week, barely eating, barely answering questions. When he did speak he talked about not wanting to be seen, about being a traitor, about being disfigured. Read the rest of this entry »