[This is an incredible amount of conflict for Elizabeth. On the one hand, that image of Daisy Fitzroy with a bloody handprint smeared across her face is one that Elizabeth is almost certain she'll never forget. That realization that something that started for the good of all had warped into a chaotic bloodbath. It wasn't all poetics and idealism, and young men dying for what they believed in. It was more real than anything Elizabeth had seen, and so it would never leave her.]
[But could someone who was heartless and twisted write such sad music? Throw her onto the ground to protect her? Walk her home and leave her at her door, when the books she'd read featured men who would suggest heavily that they wanted to be invited in? And how could she begin to doubt someone who had seen her tears and still held onto her?]
I shouldn't be afraid. You aren't afraid of me...
[Maybe she wasn't afraid that Gai was Fitzroy. Maybe she was afraid he would become like her...]
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[But could someone who was heartless and twisted write such sad music? Throw her onto the ground to protect her? Walk her home and leave her at her door, when the books she'd read featured men who would suggest heavily that they wanted to be invited in? And how could she begin to doubt someone who had seen her tears and still held onto her?]
I shouldn't be afraid. You aren't afraid of me...
[Maybe she wasn't afraid that Gai was Fitzroy. Maybe she was afraid he would become like her...]