11-11-2021, 09:07 PM
It’s difficult for Sickle to stay mad when she’s yelling at someone that doesn’t yell back (though she has yet to experience being yelled at back - maybe her anger would be quick to dissipate either way). She hates that Malik takes a step back too even though she had done the same, hates that she sees her own uncertainty written on his face.
If this is Malik. She doesn’t know - can’t know what is the truth anymore. Not when they come from a family of shapeshifters, not when she had been lured to the Pampas by someone wearing the face of her cousin.
Even when his voice is soft and she can feel her rage deflate, she is so unsure. So wary. She doesn’t have much experience trying to protect herself but she fumbles for walls, tries to find a way to retreat inside of herself and protect what she can. “It doesn’t matter if you meant to or not. You did.” The words don’t have the same angry bite to them, and she feels that sorrow welling in again.
Sickle doesn’t feel like someone just on the cusp of adulthood. She feels like a small child and just like that she changes her shape - not the young panther she had been before but a cub version. It’s incredibly annoying to be so small but somehow that aggravation just cannot seep in and distract her.
There’s a very strong instinct to curl in on herself. To bury her head in her furry limbs and hide from the world. Instead, she looks down at her blue paws and whispers something she only wishes was true. “He doesn’t think I’m worth remembering but he’s wrong.”
If this is Malik. She doesn’t know - can’t know what is the truth anymore. Not when they come from a family of shapeshifters, not when she had been lured to the Pampas by someone wearing the face of her cousin.
Even when his voice is soft and she can feel her rage deflate, she is so unsure. So wary. She doesn’t have much experience trying to protect herself but she fumbles for walls, tries to find a way to retreat inside of herself and protect what she can. “It doesn’t matter if you meant to or not. You did.” The words don’t have the same angry bite to them, and she feels that sorrow welling in again.
Sickle doesn’t feel like someone just on the cusp of adulthood. She feels like a small child and just like that she changes her shape - not the young panther she had been before but a cub version. It’s incredibly annoying to be so small but somehow that aggravation just cannot seep in and distract her.
There’s a very strong instinct to curl in on herself. To bury her head in her furry limbs and hide from the world. Instead, she looks down at her blue paws and whispers something she only wishes was true. “He doesn’t think I’m worth remembering but he’s wrong.”
@
Malik