She finishes pinching the crust with one hand, eyes flicking over to Charlie. She always made a point to pay attention to them when she could and even now, in the midst of what might be her first brush with the concept of anxiety and panic, she won't deviate from that core of her programming she chose to embrace.
With the pie finished, with no other projects clamoring for her attention or laundry to do or dishes to wash and the oven already full with another round of ginger and pumpkin bread- she stalls. Stands, unmoving, unbreathing, fighting through the complicated tangle of obligation, gratitude, and pitch black terror. Her smile is stiff, her eyes flickering. "I can't."
It's as simple as that. "I can't. Not- not about Mr. Hargreeves."
Not that it's ever stopped her from thinking or feeling any particular way, but she can't act on it. Can't speak against it. Can't explain what they did to force her into compliance with his ridiculous scheme to bring the kids back together.
no subject
With the pie finished, with no other projects clamoring for her attention or laundry to do or dishes to wash and the oven already full with another round of ginger and pumpkin bread- she stalls. Stands, unmoving, unbreathing, fighting through the complicated tangle of obligation, gratitude, and pitch black terror. Her smile is stiff, her eyes flickering. "I can't."
It's as simple as that. "I can't. Not- not about Mr. Hargreeves."
Not that it's ever stopped her from thinking or feeling any particular way, but she can't act on it. Can't speak against it. Can't explain what they did to force her into compliance with his ridiculous scheme to bring the kids back together.