[She's not surprised by his panic, but it's unneeded as always. She's hard to kill, hard to keep hurt. What's there to concern yourself with, when someone is injury-proof? The child drenched in dried, tacky blood, the one with sharp, studious eyes, she considers the situation — and his familiar response. The scarily sharp blades drag backward into her flesh, like knives driven down into skin. The very opposite of what anyone would want, of course, but this is normal.]
I know. I've learned. But... it was where I was born. Where we lived.
It was normal, until we decided it couldn't have been.
no subject
I know. I've learned. But... it was where I was born. Where we lived.
It was normal, until we decided it couldn't have been.