There are people who still like you just the way you are, I can promise you that.
[This is a farce, she thinks, not for the first time, moving to part her hair against instead of cracking her across the skull, sudden and unavoidable and unwarned for, an assassin she's pretending not to notice.
The problem isn't that she feels remorse, because she doesn't. The troubling thing is understanding now, a little better, what that would feel like if she did.
She might feel more affinity with whatever bound itself up inside Nona, posing as this small normal mouse of a girl. She has always felt like something others want to stuff into a canister.]
no subject
[This is a farce, she thinks, not for the first time, moving to part her hair against instead of cracking her across the skull, sudden and unavoidable and unwarned for, an assassin she's pretending not to notice.
The problem isn't that she feels remorse, because she doesn't. The troubling thing is understanding now, a little better, what that would feel like if she did.
She might feel more affinity with whatever bound itself up inside Nona, posing as this small normal mouse of a girl. She has always felt like something others want to stuff into a canister.]
What is what like?