[It is frustrating—immensely so—to concede the upper hand. He could still very well be lying, an act as slick as her false sweetness; and compounded, maybe, by genuine panic. That much reminds Mari that the keys are still, surely, in her hands.]
[Who could survive ripped limbs or a puddle of blood? And he’s alone here. He’s appealing to her sympathy, she thinks. They’re evocative little stories.]
[Mari is truly not fond of his concluding gloat.]
She doesn’t belong to you.
[But just a bit longer, if only to hear the response, he’ll be spared another scale.]
no subject
[It is frustrating—immensely so—to concede the upper hand. He could still very well be lying, an act as slick as her false sweetness; and compounded, maybe, by genuine panic. That much reminds Mari that the keys are still, surely, in her hands.]
[Who could survive ripped limbs or a puddle of blood? And he’s alone here. He’s appealing to her sympathy, she thinks. They’re evocative little stories.]
[Mari is truly not fond of his concluding gloat.]
She doesn’t belong to you.
[But just a bit longer, if only to hear the response, he’ll be spared another scale.]