[oh, she's so mad. the absolute fury of it crawls across her skin, and it's enough to make her shudder from the nerve-ending incandescence of it. it's hard to stay balanced, and she can't help but take on a little bit of anger, herself. still, she takes in each word, thinking on them—and by the end, nods.]
You're right.
[it's... an accurate read, she thinks. a wholly accurate encapsulation.]
I'm not your teacher, and I have no right to criticize your decisions.
I'm simply reflecting my own selfish desires on you because I care for you.
[her anger does not fade, and while there is something bitter that twists in her at the idea of being cared for - something guilty, something touched, something disbelieving - she presses on]
Then allow me to say that caring for someone matters not if it is only in feeling, not action.
Knowing that you would rather inflict loss upon me than suffer it yourself is selfish indeed, and I will not say thank you.
I'm in no way the possessor of some greater understanding of you, or less selfishly hoping for yours and others' protection and safety.
I'm just a fallible, imperfect human.
[she withdraws a small ribbon-wrapped jar from her pocket, and carefully places it on a wooden ledge marking off a line of flowers in the garden. within, obscured slightly by the ribbon, is a black tea shot with blue flowers.]
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no subject
You're right.
[it's... an accurate read, she thinks. a wholly accurate encapsulation.]
I'm not your teacher, and I have no right to criticize your decisions.
I'm simply reflecting my own selfish desires on you because I care for you.
no subject
Then allow me to say that caring for someone matters not if it is only in feeling, not action.
Knowing that you would rather inflict loss upon me than suffer it yourself is selfish indeed, and I will not say thank you.
no subject
I'm in no way the possessor of some greater understanding of you, or less selfishly hoping for yours and others' protection and safety.
I'm just a fallible, imperfect human.
[she withdraws a small ribbon-wrapped jar from her pocket, and carefully places it on a wooden ledge marking off a line of flowers in the garden. within, obscured slightly by the ribbon, is a black tea shot with blue flowers.]
Thank you for granting me some of your time.
[and she turns, walking to leave the garden.]