Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
She is able to listen calmly even through his gentle let down, though it furrows her brow. Why would time and space not mend Talyson’s inexplicable distaste for her? Surely her joke at the banquet couldn’t have courted an eternal grudge? It simply didn’t make any sense if that was the case. The response far more drastic than the perceived injury.
Until -
“Drew some comparisons to Zariah.”
Her fork makes a loud, ringing metallic noise as it slides from her limp hand to ricochet off the side of her plate, falling to the table. Evie stares, perhaps at or maybe through him, the rest of what he says sliding in her ears and finding root but paling in comparison to a slight Talyson couldn’t have possibly constructed into something more hurtful.
A hand made for healing fists itself on top of the table.
“What does he presume to know about Zariah to claim the confidence to compare me to her?” It spits like acid in a tone gone icy and far too perfectly pronounced. Almost arrogant, regal, the same tone she employed to sneer down her nose at Sam for so many, many years. “How does he even know about us? Has he -” a dawning, furious realization cuts off her inquiry, eyes widening into an expression that would best befit horror were it not for the flush of rage steadily rising in her cheeks. “Hooked my claws? What was he implying?” Like a cobra’s shaking tail her voice is a warning, knowing there is more behind Deimos’ carefully considered words and needing an explanation before she determines just how severe her reaction will be.
Until -
“Drew some comparisons to Zariah.”
Her fork makes a loud, ringing metallic noise as it slides from her limp hand to ricochet off the side of her plate, falling to the table. Evie stares, perhaps at or maybe through him, the rest of what he says sliding in her ears and finding root but paling in comparison to a slight Talyson couldn’t have possibly constructed into something more hurtful.
A hand made for healing fists itself on top of the table.
“What does he presume to know about Zariah to claim the confidence to compare me to her?” It spits like acid in a tone gone icy and far too perfectly pronounced. Almost arrogant, regal, the same tone she employed to sneer down her nose at Sam for so many, many years. “How does he even know about us? Has he -” a dawning, furious realization cuts off her inquiry, eyes widening into an expression that would best befit horror were it not for the flush of rage steadily rising in her cheeks. “Hooked my claws? What was he implying?” Like a cobra’s shaking tail her voice is a warning, knowing there is more behind Deimos’ carefully considered words and needing an explanation before she determines just how severe her reaction will be.
Or did you just never want to be alone?
