[ She struggles to hold her existence together, the threads that comprise her twisting from her grasp like specks underwater. In the end, it's her fear that saves her; her cowardice, the bane of her existence, her cowardice, which has always dragged her without sympathy or grace from one miserable circumstance to the next.
The fear originates with the man, her hand now sandwiched between his chest and hand, his leering amusement cutting through her pain so that the threads that comprise her snap viciously tight again like the bite of a beast.
His words, polite and mild on paper, fall on deaf ears. With uncharacteristic rudeness, Gray rips her hand away from him as if burned, her face open with alarm and opposition. The Tree is well and truly the least of her worries at the moment. ]
Who are you?
[ The softness has fled her voice, given way to the demands of fear and survival. ]
no subject
The fear originates with the man, her hand now sandwiched between his chest and hand, his leering amusement cutting through her pain so that the threads that comprise her snap viciously tight again like the bite of a beast.
His words, polite and mild on paper, fall on deaf ears. With uncharacteristic rudeness, Gray rips her hand away from him as if burned, her face open with alarm and opposition. The Tree is well and truly the least of her worries at the moment. ]
Who are you?
[ The softness has fled her voice, given way to the demands of fear and survival. ]