we're always running scared but holding knives
Isla is still frowning, but she doesn't move any further across the sand. "Oh," she says, a little hopelessly. Knowing and remembering are vastly different in her mind, because merely knowing what has happened doesn't bring any feeling back with it, and Isla doesn't want Remi's pity. She doesn't think she can stand it; she'd prefer to clash with him every time they meet rather than have him look at her that way.
So it's probably a good thing that she doesn't see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, because at present the Remedy wouldn't know how to take them. Even so, it's with another shaky sigh that she tries for a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. "I don't have anywhere else to be," she mutters. "Go ahead."
Because even a strange, slightly unbelievable conversation with Remi is still a conversation with him. And how sad is it, that Isla wants to hear his voice more?
So it's probably a good thing that she doesn't see the glimmer of tears in his eyes, because at present the Remedy wouldn't know how to take them. Even so, it's with another shaky sigh that she tries for a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders. "I don't have anywhere else to be," she mutters. "Go ahead."
Because even a strange, slightly unbelievable conversation with Remi is still a conversation with him. And how sad is it, that Isla wants to hear his voice more?
Isla
