[ She doesn't shout - or yell or use her height or weight or all that impossible strength. Another day, perhaps even, she might. That he had insulted her faith. The lives that her people had given. That he insulted her father, a servant, and the streets she grew up hungry and half wild in with nothing.
No, none of it comes, for in her mouth sits independence, sits a homeland that is free, but she is trapped here, and she has not wept in years. She cannot. If she begins where is she to stop? Another day she could have swallowed of this all and spat back all he, in turn, did not understand. She had put of something into his hands as surely as she might anyone else, a want to speak honestly to how she felt. How much she loathed the games of nobles, lords, priests, to assure him that she would always know what would come first.
But she had been wrong and -
She snatches for the veil, that ugly sting she can feel all the way down. That feels like frustration, humiliation and so surely grief. Her head snaps away. Proud because that is all she has, stiff because she doesn't know how to give herself in.
After all, she had been told, and Gwen had warned her, and she had no one else to blame but herself. ]
Forgive me. [ Because what else was there to say? Her fingers grip so hard into the cotton, they turn white. ] The door was never locked. Thank you for speaking with me.
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No, none of it comes, for in her mouth sits independence, sits a homeland that is free, but she is trapped here, and she has not wept in years. She cannot. If she begins where is she to stop? Another day she could have swallowed of this all and spat back all he, in turn, did not understand. She had put of something into his hands as surely as she might anyone else, a want to speak honestly to how she felt. How much she loathed the games of nobles, lords, priests, to assure him that she would always know what would come first.
But she had been wrong and -
She snatches for the veil, that ugly sting she can feel all the way down. That feels like frustration, humiliation and so surely grief. Her head snaps away. Proud because that is all she has, stiff because she doesn't know how to give herself in.
After all, she had been told, and Gwen had warned her, and she had no one else to blame but herself. ]
Forgive me. [ Because what else was there to say? Her fingers grip so hard into the cotton, they turn white. ] The door was never locked. Thank you for speaking with me.