troubles yet to come

His head tilts forward, his brow furrows, his anger ignites and he forgets. Good, yes, forget it all. Thing you have the upper hand, that physical strength is all that matters. Her mind is sharp still, her memories weapons, her words poison and he but a simple man, too convinced of a false reality that his possession of a penis and musculature makes him somehow more capable. She smiles slowly, eery and inky black, even as tears still stream down her face. Slowly she lifts a hand, resting it on the back of his neck, his ear caught between her thumb and her index finger. [say]"It hurts less to believe that, doesn't it? But is that really me, Jata? Is Phoebe so cunning as those in Korofi to use you? Is that the Phoebe you know?"[/say] she asked, her voice hoarse but soft, a near whisper as her thumb stroked along his cheek bone as she often had. [say]"That boy never died. He adapted. He learned. He protected himself. He survived behind layers of ice and scars and sarcasm. He chased a woman who encouraged that and mistook it for love. That's what she does, isn't it? She encourages you to hide in the shadows so you might fight another day?"[/say]

Again she laughed, head tilting back briefly, looking at the clinic upside down. [say]"I saw that boy. I saw you. For the first time in a decade you could not hide and it scared you."[/say] she whispered, looking back at him again. [say]"I did not seek to change you. You changed yourself. Because remember...I'm not the one who can lie. Jata."[/say] she said, a cross between a whisper and a hiss. [say]"I loved you. The real you that you pretend is dead. And it scared you to be loved. Didn't it?"[/say] she said, her other hand lifting to cradle the other side of his head.