[ for a long moment, caroline simply stares at her, looking much like a deer in headlights. she stands with another plate clutched in pale hands, the telltale smear of eyeliner and mascara on her cheeks from tears that have already fallen, unsure of what to say, unable to say anything at all.
what can she say, that doesn't come out a mess? how can she explain the conflicting emotions she feels — sorrow, rage, guilt, self-loathing? that this is tragic and terrible and unfair, but that it's somehow also her own fault? that her own self-sacrifice in zerzura only set her up to gain and lose all over again, yet another person to walk away, another loss to wear emblazoned on her heart?
she doesn't know how to say it, so she just throws another plate. ]
no subject
what can she say, that doesn't come out a mess? how can she explain the conflicting emotions she feels — sorrow, rage, guilt, self-loathing? that this is tragic and terrible and unfair, but that it's somehow also her own fault? that her own self-sacrifice in zerzura only set her up to gain and lose all over again, yet another person to walk away, another loss to wear emblazoned on her heart?
she doesn't know how to say it, so she just throws another plate. ]
I hate this place.