She catches the way that he winces, but she doesn’t falter. The stone in her chest doesn’t crack at the idea of it, doesn’t weaken to know that so much pain has been brought into his life but those that claim pieces of her identity. Predators. Ill-equipped mothers. She embodies so much of what has stripped him of his chance to lead something of a normal life—something clean and untouched by the horror he’s felt.
But she stopped apologizing for being what she was a long time ago.
And she feels no need to pick up the weight of it now.
Instead she takes the small daggers of his truth into her breast unflinchingly. “Some acts of cruelty are acts of kindness in their own right,” she says, her voice is cold. “You may be better off.” She shrugs, the light catching the silver of the scars on her shoulder, the crimson tattoo across her chest. “My daughter, wherever she is, is better off without being raised by someone who could never pretend to love her.”
She shuts the door on the conversation then, a frown crossing her stern features at the sudden request. She feels the snow drift down to rest along her back, the icy breath of it along her cheek. It’s not a request that she has received often; she’s never been the time to invoke feelings of warmth in others, to stir trust in their chest, or have them seek out her company. It’s an odd sensation to be asked to stay—to remain.
Her instinct is to deny it immediately, but she holds her tongue.
Instead she just nods, not bothering to hide her confusion at the question but not refusing it either.
she said a war ain't a war before both sides bleed
![[Image: sochi.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/rs3xFJR0/sochi.png)
I was less than graceful, I was not kind
be out watching other lovers lose their spine