She cannot meet her father's gaze.
May the Mother show her mercy, she cannot meet her father's gaze, and some part of her is certain that this, too, is a mere trifling compared to the greater penance she must pay.
In desperation, in grief did her guilt pour from her mouth, but without much meaning. He did not hear her. Perhaps he would not hear her. Is it willful ignorance, she wonders, that stops him from inquiring? Or can he truly be this blind?
He looks at her expectantly, and she finds her hand securing itself round her throat, her fingers attempting to lose themselves in the guise of her necklace, and yet finding themselves scratching like some skittish creature. All she has ever really been, in truth.
With an unsteadied breath, her eyes grow wide, almost mad in their plea. Her voice, little more than a shudder, a whisper of a shame so deep she cannot hope to find the edges of herself in its wake. It is, and always has been, all.
"I have sinned," she gasps, and her words are almost a begging. Forgive me. I cannot forgive myself, I should not forgive myself, but please, if nothing else, if no one else, please forgive me, Father. Answer me. Chastise me. Loathe me, if you wish, but first and last, forgive me.
He gives her a small, pitying smile, his voice the quietest she is sure to have ever heard. With a nod, almost meek in its making, does he answer.
"I do not wish to hear of it."
I do not wish to hear of it.
Is that not the total, aching sum of her meaning to him? That she is dear, there can be no question, but no dearer than his peace, illiterate as he likes. He will not sacrifice a moment of his mind for her. He will not share in her burdens, he refuses even to play at the father, the friend, the fool to soothe, for a mere second, her wounded brow.
Would that he did not hear her. Would that he did not know. Would that she could pretend that her pain, to him, meant anything at all.
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lacke; But who shall give thee that grace to beginne?
This moment between Alicent and Otto hit me like a freight train, and though there are so many moments in this episode playing repeatedly in my mind, this one was the first I had to get down in words.
The final line, in italics, is from the Holy Sonnets of John Donne, a late sixteenth - early seventeenth century poet I desperately adore. I was reading Holy Sonnets - IV the other day, and this line felt so profoundly Alicent, especially seeming to resonate after this episode.
I might explore more a little later (eyeing that end Alicole scene) but for now, I'll most likely re-watch the episode and lose my mind in all the gothic suffering (I love it so much) 😭
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