[ she's a strong woman, but a small one; to be crushed beneath a fully grown man still takes her to the ground and still crumples her limbs in ways that distinctly and truly hurt—joints that crack and bend wrong and bruises that spring up everywhere she touches the ground or he touches her.
but then he pushes himself up, speaks in harsh tones, and she opens her watering eyes to a face much younger than she knows. as though time itself has been shaved away. eyes that lack their spark. a furrowed brow. it's Herlock—she knows this is Herlock. but it's not right. he never looked at her like this.
confusion and pain—both physical and not—in her own expression. she pushes herself back from him on wobbly elbows. isn't she still asleep? ]
no subject
but then he pushes himself up, speaks in harsh tones, and she opens her watering eyes to a face much younger than she knows. as though time itself has been shaved away. eyes that lack their spark. a furrowed brow. it's Herlock—she knows this is Herlock. but it's not right. he never looked at her like this.
confusion and pain—both physical and not—in her own expression. she pushes herself back from him on wobbly elbows. isn't she still asleep? ]
Don't shout.