[ An open wound. Barely a person. Sharon grimaces, recoiling somewhere deep inside her, as if he'd pressed those long fingers into that open wound. It doesn't show for long. Eventually, she lifts the wooden spoon, wet with offensively orange cheese sauce, and points it at him, words falling out flat. ] Careful, you're stepping into dangerous territory, Seishirou. A girl has access to your food, and we're known for poison.
[ She hasn't. She wouldn't—not him.
She ladles a heap of those toxic-orange noodles into his bowl, careless in the way it spills and settles. ] I'd offer you an illusion, maybe something you actually miss from home, but you haven't been very nice to me today. [ Another spoonful follows, generous to the point of excess, piling high before she finally turns to serve herself. The smile she gives him is saccharine, just a shade too deliberate.
He won't enjoy breakfast—somehow, that's satisfying. ]
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[ She hasn't. She wouldn't—not him.
She ladles a heap of those toxic-orange noodles into his bowl, careless in the way it spills and settles. ] I'd offer you an illusion, maybe something you actually miss from home, but you haven't been very nice to me today. [ Another spoonful follows, generous to the point of excess, piling high before she finally turns to serve herself. The smile she gives him is saccharine, just a shade too deliberate.
He won't enjoy breakfast—somehow, that's satisfying. ]