[ The throws her cousin a look of poison, in her mind she stands at the table, shadows at her back screaming in witch's curse that he will be his own undoing. That is the nature of their home. That is the nature of their death's, their pride, their deceits, their greeds. The Hill would be pleased with her if she gouged out his eyes here and now but she knows he is too strong for her merely lunge at him across the table.
She will cry or she will throw something if she does not find some way to shake this hate....
She touches the brooch on her dress, a subtle gesture that looks merely mournful, sentimental. But she stabs its pin into her thumb until the screaming in her thoughts ceases, tucking its bleeding into her napkin silently. ]
They wouldn't have given them to you if they intended to retrieve them, Haran.
[ She chides him, her voice suddenly very tired. ]
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She will cry or she will throw something if she does not find some way to shake this hate....
She touches the brooch on her dress, a subtle gesture that looks merely mournful, sentimental. But she stabs its pin into her thumb until the screaming in her thoughts ceases, tucking its bleeding into her napkin silently. ]
They wouldn't have given them to you if they intended to retrieve them, Haran.
[ She chides him, her voice suddenly very tired. ]