[He’s found it. A raw, sore spot. An eking wound that makes her bare her fangs at anyone who so much as grazes past it. Everyone has one, and he often manages to find it, even if Henry has more stumbled headfirst into it than plucked it free from its tapestry.
Interesting, that anger. Just how far down does it burrow? To her core, like his own? Henry speaks over the hiss of the faucet.]
I’d rather you not lump me in with everyone else. I won’t make that mistake again.
no subject
Interesting, that anger. Just how far down does it burrow? To her core, like his own? Henry speaks over the hiss of the faucet.]
I’d rather you not lump me in with everyone else. I won’t make that mistake again.