nahmann

Beside the guard-room table;

The strong hand and the subtle hand

Whose palms are always able

To meet within the sounds of guns,

But oh! what peace I knew then

In gazing on his battered face

Purer than any woman’s!

For the flyblown words that make me spew

Still in his ears were holy,

And he was born knowing what I had learned

Out of books and slowly.

The treacherous guns had told their tale

And we both had bought it,

But my gold brick was made of gold –

Oh! who ever would have thought it?

Good luck go with you, Italian soldier!

But luck is not for the brave;

What would the world give back to you?

Always less than you gave.

Between the shadow and the ghost,

Between the white and the red,

Between the bullet and the lie,

Where would you hide your head?

For where is Manuel Gonzalez,

And where is Pedro Aguilar,

And where is Ramon Fenellosa?

The earthworms know where they are.

Your name and your deeds were forgotten

Before your bones were dry,

And the lie that slew you is buried

Under a deeper lie;

But the thing that I saw in your face

No power can disinherit:

No bomb that ever burst

Shatters the crystal spirit.

'Ravens,' said Charles.

This fits well with his core traits I think: his incessant pursuit of aesthetics, his unreliable and self-centered narration, emotional detachment and lack of empathy, the desire to help others (not for their benefit but to gain good standing and praise), and his need for grandiosity and masking, ie his lying and need for admiration, as well as his idolization of Julian and Henry (as they r two ppl that the whole of the Greek class admires in the way that he wishes to be was as well).

His abusive childhood informs his narcissism in an interesting way, as his narcissistic tendencies (the analysis of others behavior + personal imagine curation) act coping mechanisms that make him feel safe and in control. If he’s always anticipating others behaviors, and if his own behavior is preformed perfectly, then ergo there should be less opportunity/reasons for others to hurt him.

looking in the mirror and seeing her brother, trying to grow her hair out so she looks less like him but it looks so wrong she chops it off again in a fit of rage

dialing his number then hanging up again, staring at the scar of the cigarette burn and reminding herself that it is not worth it, he is not worth it

going into the church one day where he found comfort and sitting at the back, watching the ghost of him at ten racing between the pews with her, all bright smiles and shy laughter before anything had gone wrong for him, for them

hearing someone in town confusedly call her by his name and flinching, turning around in shock as if he might be standing up the road, only to find the person looking right at her instead