"I didn't know him, it wasn't me, I wasn't there", he sneers behind his bitter glass. Already palely fading, shrinking to a shame-filled shadow. Belittled. Crippled. By the pain and confusion of the brutal Gormenghastly beatings. He slurs down beneath the table. Which begins to grow incredibly tall. To rise up black and huge.
Poor blind mouse skitters away into a dark corner. Bends low, fumbles his wooden cross, loses his foothold, and falls into the swirling inky blackness of the pit.
