"He has so many studies and parlours and trophy rooms. I'd hope he could spare just one trophy room someday for Number One."
It's one of the few, rare glimmers of Luther hoping for more than he has, and he still sounds too naïve about the prospect. Overly-optimistic. There's no way in hell the Monocle's carving out more space in the mansion even for his favourite, and on some level Luther knows it, although he doesn't want to look at that truth head-on. He keeps looking at Allison's delicate hands instead: the even coats of lacquer, the blood and scabs neatly wiped out of existence from their last fight. In contrast, there's still a band-aid on one of his knuckles.
"Did you ever wonder why we didn't get bigger rooms?" Voicing this isn't technically treachery, isn't anywhere near the spitting vitriol that Klaus is capable of, but coming from Luther's careful lips it still sounds borderline. It's questioning, and he almost never questions. "I feel like we could've gotten bigger rooms, now that we're older."
But of course: there was a reason that the children were penned up in the servants' wing, never to be seen or stumbled across underfoot unless they were at their lessons or training. It kept them safely tucked away out of sight, and it didn't pamper them. One and Three had the large bedrooms compared to everyone else, and even then, they weren't all that large.
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It's one of the few, rare glimmers of Luther hoping for more than he has, and he still sounds too naïve about the prospect. Overly-optimistic. There's no way in hell the Monocle's carving out more space in the mansion even for his favourite, and on some level Luther knows it, although he doesn't want to look at that truth head-on. He keeps looking at Allison's delicate hands instead: the even coats of lacquer, the blood and scabs neatly wiped out of existence from their last fight. In contrast, there's still a band-aid on one of his knuckles.
"Did you ever wonder why we didn't get bigger rooms?" Voicing this isn't technically treachery, isn't anywhere near the spitting vitriol that Klaus is capable of, but coming from Luther's careful lips it still sounds borderline. It's questioning, and he almost never questions. "I feel like we could've gotten bigger rooms, now that we're older."
But of course: there was a reason that the children were penned up in the servants' wing, never to be seen or stumbled across underfoot unless they were at their lessons or training. It kept them safely tucked away out of sight, and it didn't pamper them. One and Three had the large bedrooms compared to everyone else, and even then, they weren't all that large.