Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
Again she blinked. The motion was infrequent, more indicative of emotional stirrings than any real need for it. The closer he came, the less lifelike she appeared. No effort was made to bring ribcage to rise and fall in a mimicry of breath, nor did pulses beat blood beneath that arsenic skin. If her complexion was pale before it was only ashen now, because whatever fluids ran through her veins no longer made her blush at the intrusion of a man into her personal space.
"A nice sentiment," she remarked dryly. "You might be surprised to know that it's a rare one." If her words smacked of bitterness, it was nothing against the slow smile that curled the corners of her lips. Never reaching the eyes, it twitched and was gone again - a spasm of some wry amusement.
"Oh," she agreed. "And what should I be happy about? The lovely weather?" Holding out a hand, she watched droplets bead against a palm both puckered and scarred, as from some intense heat. "You don't seem all that cheerful yourself."
If he was, why come out here all on his own?
"A nice sentiment," she remarked dryly. "You might be surprised to know that it's a rare one." If her words smacked of bitterness, it was nothing against the slow smile that curled the corners of her lips. Never reaching the eyes, it twitched and was gone again - a spasm of some wry amusement.
"Oh," she agreed. "And what should I be happy about? The lovely weather?" Holding out a hand, she watched droplets bead against a palm both puckered and scarred, as from some intense heat. "You don't seem all that cheerful yourself."
If he was, why come out here all on his own?
