Elisabeth's POV
Suppression. That's the clinical term for what happens when your mind decides certain memories are too dangerous to remember. The brain locks them away in the deepest corners of your consciousness, sealing them behind walls so thick that only the most violent triggers can crack them open. It's supposed to protect you from trauma, from emotional devastation.
For me, it was a way to hide from the truth of what I really was.
I had been crafted into an image of perfection, trained to believe in my own pristine nature. I built my entire identity on that foundation, convincing myself I was virtuous, clean, unblemished. But that was all a lie. I had committed acts so vile that my own mind rebelled against remembering them. It was simpler to pretend those moments never existed. Easier to pretend I wasn't the monster lurking beneath the surface.
Perhaps that explained why I could accept Jefferson so completely, darkness and all.
