Raven wanted to cry.
Not just sniffle and tear up like she always done before when her sadness was too overwhelming for her to fight.
She wanted to sob, scream, toss her ornaments about her room, smash her furniture, and rend her books apart.
But that is what Rook would do, not Raven. Raven would never do such an emotional thing.
It was one of the reasons she made Rook.
For him.
Now she wanted to cry again; she had led herself in a circle, straight back into his presence that had invaded her mind. But she had made Rook for him, how dare he be so ungrateful? Rook was everything he ever could have wanted; she had everything Raven couldn't give him.
She had real emotions without having to worry the entire blasted city would tumble around her ears. She was more malleable than Raven, he could help mold into whatever he wanted: his lover, his friend, his quick fuck, his naughty girlfriend. His little whore if he wanted.
Raven could never do that. Rook could. That's what she made her for.
Rook was supposed to be for him (and Kyd Wykkyd) but now he had decided he didn't want Rook now; he wanted Raven.
"Damn you," she whispered, "damn you!"
How could he? How dare he?
"Damn you," she whimpered to his twisted his form and fought not to cry.