You cannot move, his ancient psyche doesn't allow you to.

This always begins with the turmoil of an argument, escalation is the gateway to the inevitable. He did let you attack at first, what were you going to do? It was the strike for his throat that made him snap, the traumatic familiarity of having anything sharp drag across his neck.

It was only your nails, the least imposing weapon you've yielded tonight. And somehow they managed to just barely draw faint red beads into a line on his flesh.

And now, you can't move, on the couch, his Mind Gift does not allow you to. On your back, one of his hands wrapped around your jaw, digging your jaw into your cranium into his leg to keep you there. And to shut you up. You two don't fight like normal families. He has your wrist in his other hand.

"Feel the difference between strength and hubris." One of his claws begin pressing into the center of yours. It began to chip, break off, bleed. The world tips. Your nerves buzz. He is, essentially, declawing you.

He keeps talking but it mostly blurs, you catch fragments instead. "In the time it takes these to grow back," another nail ripped off, "I implore you to think about your actions," one more, "and their consequences."