The chair was still where it had been the other day - back to the windows, facing the wall, but Tallulah had still made a few adjustments to the room. She had moved nearly all of the furniture to the walls of the large space, and had taken all of the paintings from the walls. The room was filled with a sunny warmth that seemed to add an element of cheerfulness not normally seen in the more ornate homes of her kind. Tallulah had set water to boil, taken out her favorite spiced tea and a jar of honey, and prepared a bit of food - almost like a lunch. There were sweet, crisp apples, a type of yellow, sharp cheese, and a loaf of still-warm sourdough bread which had been made with rosemary. If there was one thing both her mother and gran had taught her, it was this: every guest, no matter how unwelcome, was still a guest.

As for Tallulah, she had dressed in one of her many white smocks, and was - as usual - barefoot. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and her glasses perched on the bridge of her straight nose. Her canvas, a beautiful, hand-carved thing, was set up a good three feet from where Artemis would be sitting, and everything that she needed (charcoal, cloth, a specialty eraser, and extra sheets of paper) was set carelessly on her morning table next to the food. All in all, everything looked effortless, almost insulting the struggle she'd gone through on planning it all out.

She could hardly remember the day before, but she knew he had been kind to her, and she had been rather nice, in turn. After that, it was all a mess of dreams and flashes of memories and food. And, of course, a bath. Her hair was still damp, and her skin smelled of lavender and roses, something she delighted in. She wouldn't consider most of her tastes fancy, except for one - the desire to smell nice.

Leaning against the open window's frame, Tallulah sighed, watching the light play off of the sweet-smelling flowers that bloomed in her garden. She was feeling rather odd. Nervous? No. Never. At least, she hoped not. Why should she be? This was her house. HER house. And yet, there was something about the way she couldn't stop herself from glancing at the door every few minutes . . . but no. That was absurd.

She looked down at her hands, her alabaster brow furrowing. What if didn't come? What if he did? What if this was all a big mistake? What if - What if she just stopped asking herself all of these stupid questions, and just let things be? Laughing softly at herself, she closed her eyes and lent her head back, basking in the warm glow of the rare, yet warm, midday sun.

Artemis was running a bit late. He'd found his way back easily enough. The issue had been convincing himself to come in the first place. He really did not want to. He didn't want to have to deal with Tallulah again. He didn't want to deal with the confusion she had caused in their last meeting. He didn't want to have to sit still for gods knew how long. Certainly, he had given her his word, but really, what was his word worth anymore? And it wasn't like she could hunt him down- she didn't even know where he lived.

But of course, a part of him knew, deep down, that if he didn't come of his own accord, fate would suffer them another, accidental meeting that would only end in shambles if Tallulah had anything to do with it. And then, of course, there was also the small part of him that didn't mind so much. The part that remembered the spark of kindness she had shown him. It was the part of him that wanted to see if it had been real- if she did, somehow, have kindness somewhere within her. It was all part of the puzzle that she was. Part of the challenge. If she didn't impress him, he wouldn't have to see her again- the challenge would lose its appeal and he wouldn't bother looking back. They would go their separate ways, as planned, and never again be bothered by eachother's company.

Putting on his usual smirk, falling back into the customary, cocky stance that was familiar to him, he raised a hand and knocked on the door, and waited.

Tallulah's eyes opened lazily. She had heard the knocking, but was having second thoughts. What if - no. This was her game, as well, and she was no coward,no, she was not like her father. So she pushed away from her warm spot in the sun, and walked to the door, pulling it open slowly. The warm, soft smell of baked bread and roses wafted out to the city streets. Oddly enough, no one was out today, either. Huh. It must've been the weather - they were all probably having parties. And there he was, that infuriating smirk on his lips. She surveyed his appearance quickly, taking in the rugged comfortable edge that was signature his, and maybe taking a little more time than needed on his face. The redness had gone down, but the light rings were still there. Oddly enough, the scars added to his features. She must have been going mad.

"Come in, Mr. Diotrephes," she said, standing in the light shadows of her home, leaning against the door. She had gotten a good sleep last night, so she was close to fidgeting, but she couldn't let him see that. No, after yesterday, she had to be cool. Controlled. And, depending on her luck, she might manage not to fall over.

He entered into her home only upon her request, glancing around as he had the first time, letting the door click shut before really looking at Tallulah. She seemed in higher spirits, today, which was likely not a good thing, but at lest it mean he would not have to babysit her again. His eyes were cold and calculating as he took her in, and gave a sharp nod in greting, "Miss Anatine..."

He glanced in the direction of the food that she had prepared, then back at her. He would not inquire after her reasons for cooking such a lovely lunch, nor make any move to compliment her on how nice it smelled, or even insult her for that matter. Not yet. Instead, he opted to tease her. "I would ask that you not collapse again, Miss Anatine. I know my presence must be overwhelming for you, but honestly I don't care to look after you like some wounded animal." Yes, that would do. Now for the finishing touch, "Now are we going to start so I may leave as soon as possible," He nodded toward the food, "Or did you wish to attempt at 'entertaining' me like a proper host with a shoddily prepared meal and feeble attempts at niceties?" Hmm... perhaps that was a bit much. Oh, well, may as well take things as they should come. If she got flustered, or kicked him out of er house and never wished to see him again, all the better, right?

.... Right...?

She smirked - he had actually managed to say something funny. But then he had to go and insult her cooking. Damned wick. Bastard. Damned wick bastard. She felt like slapping him, but then again . . . she could just hurt his pride. "Every guest, no matter how unwelcome, is still a guest. And I thought you might enjoy the food, since you obviously lack the ability to maintain a relationship long enough to procure any type of meal." She smiled sweetly, and shut the door behind him with a little more force than necessary. Lily was beside him, begging for attention, before Artemis was past the little welcome rug.

Tallulah smiled endearingly at the dog, taking a slice of apple and some cheese and eating the combination delicately. God, it was good. Apples and cheese always were. She walked to her place across from the chair she had set out for him the day before. "Please -" The tea kettle whistled just as she was asking him to sit; she had completely forgotten the tea. She rushed from her easel and set about pouring and brewing. Tallulah enjoyed many things, despite popular belief, and chief among them was feeding people. A close second was brewing tea, which was tied with crunching dried leaves underfoot during the colder seasons.

The warm smell of cinnamon and cardamon and vanilla flooded the room as she went about her work, and she couldn't help but think the scene would've been strangely domestic - had they not hated each other. "Since you seem to have a hate of anything the least bit tasteful, I doubt you'll want any tea, but should you change your mind, feel free to ask." She plucked her own ornate cup from the table, adding a bit of honey and milk, and stirring lightly. The china was fine - it was white, with gold trim and beautiful flowers curling around the handles - and had been a gift from her mother. It looked especially pleasing in the light - why didn't she just draw it, and forget him? The answer eluded her.

She continued with what she began before the whistle of the teapot had so caught her off guard. "Please, sit." She nodded her head to the chair, and moved back to her place behind the drawing board.

The jeer stung. But he shrugged it off. It was nothing he couldn't handle. It wasn't like this woman knew anything about... anything. He glanced down at the dog who sat at his feet, looking back up at him with such an endearing expression of fondness that he couldn't help but return the greeting. "Hello," He said with more warmth than he had shown the dog's owner, scratching Lily's ears. He then glanced up at Tallulah as she asked for him to sit, eyes as cold as ever. "Honestly, Miss Anatine, I should think you would know about the lack of anything resembling a proper relationship far better than I would."

He smirked as he crossed over, closing the distance between them, "I would pity you, were it not your fault, but, well..." He gestured in her direction, implying that the reasons were obvious, "I suppose it can't be helped." He sat, finally, staring back up at the woman who so infuriated him.

She glared at him. Great Goddess, would he never stop? She'd made him food, healed him, let him in to her home, and still he wouldn't just let her get finished with this in silence. He was rude, infuriating, and she suddenly had the urge to make true her threat about Lily eating a certain part of his anatomy. "You are the most barbaric, ungrateful, wretch I have ever met. Though what can one expect, coming from a family such as yours. I've known only three wicks, two of which had whores for mothers, and they were still more elegant in their mannerisms than you. I can only imagine what your parentage must be."

Her smile was sly, and her tone bereft of emotion. Though she had to wonder, if he wasn't the way he was, would she have still found him challenging? Oh, that was stupid. He was just an annoyance. Nothing more. Maybe less. She cocked her head to the side. It just struck her - maybe it had nothing to do with his mother. Maybe . . . "Or was it your father who forgot to instruct you in the proper ways of dealing with others?" She shrugged, nonchalantly looking through her tray of pencils and shades of charcoals. She picked a lighter stick, glancing up at him over the rim of her glasses. "It makes no difference to me. I'm just wondering what level of stupidity it would've taken to spawn a thing such as yourself."

He saw her hackles rising, and oh was it an entertaining thing to watch. Hell, he even smirked as she began to raise her voice. As she called him ungrateful- hell, that was just silly, seeing as she had been the ungrateful one all along. He even let his smirk soften into a playful sort of grin, not even waiting for her to finish before speaking, "Tsk, no need to get so flustered, Miss Anatine, I was only-" Teasing. But he didn't say that. Because she brought up his heritage- insulted it. She insinuated his mother was a whore. And then she had the audacity to bring up his father of all people.

The word hitched in his throat and everything playful or teasing in his manner disappeared abruptly, his weak field crackling. His body tensed, every muscle taut, as if restraining or preparing an attack- it was difficult to tell in the way he held himself. His eyes darkened, cold, and deathly calm, contrasting the raging storm that boiled behind them. One twitch of his lips, and he spoke, calm and icy as the look in his eyes. But he wouldn't give her the pleasure of a witty rejoinder, oh, no. He would supply her with a warning. It would be up to her to decide where things would go from there. "I'm not sure I would go there, if I were you, Miss Anatine."

The slight smirk that was holding on her features twisted into a wicked grin. When she spoke, her voice was as cold and sharp as an ice sickle. "Oh, so it was your father? Did daddy not love you, Artemis? Or perhaps he was so much like that lady friend you're so bent over - maybe he couldn't find it in his heart to even pretend." She stood there, staring down at him, her red eyes cool and clean and wicked, waiting for the tempest that hid behind his eyes to finally come forth. The sunny room seemed an improper place for such talk - it was almost comical. Actually, it was quite comical, so she began to laugh. Not real laughter, no, but an icy, mocking sort of laughter that seemed to leech what joy there was left in the afternoon sun.

His eyes flashed dangerously. She'd struck something sensitive, and it hurt. What was with this woman? Just what the hell did she want? He didn't even notice when he'd gotten up, but he was now standing, jaw set, hands clenched into tight fists and every inch of him shaking. It had been such fun- it could have remained that way, just a blur of witty, perhaps humorous, banter shared between then as she finished her lovely portrait. But then...

What had brought all this about? Why was she suddenly attacking him like this? Why couldn't she have simply kept it at witty banter? At hurting his pride rather than his heart? She knew nothing- absolutely nothing- and yet she still knew the general area in which to land her attacks.

"You.." His voice cracked.

It had all been forever ago. A lifetime, it felt like. And yet the memories were still there, fresh in his mind when they were bothered to be kicked up like dust long since settled in a dark, deserted room, suddenly stirred from the long slumber, spinning out of control. He felt something crack within him. His defenses shaking, threatening to shatter. Threatening to let loose a whirl of emotion he'd suppressed for so long- no. NO! He would not allow it.

And then he spoke, and his voice was raised, almost a yell. He hadn't raised his voice in ages. He rarely got this upset over anything someone else said. "You know absolutely nothing!" He growled, still shaking, "And you never will." His voice dropped, barely a whisper, but still harsh, "I am leaving. You will never see me again. Isn't that what you want?" He grinned, and it might have been horrifying, because it certainly wasn't nice, and held no amount of humor, "Isn't that what you want?"

He backed away from her, the only thing he could do to keep himself from attacking the woman. The fool. The idiot. But of course he had been the idiot to even come. To even think for a moment he could trust this bitch. "Good luck on your gods damned portrait," He spat, "I wonder just how well you will do without a reference." And now he was just spouting whatever came to mind- whatever stupid thing he could say to keep himself together until he got away from her for good. He fumbled with the handle of the front door, hand trembling and clumsy,

"Good bye, Miss Anatine." He backed outside, shut the door as calmly as he could- slamming it not feeling right, for some reason- turned slowly, and walked away as quickly as he could. If she wanted to follow him, she would have to run. But why would she follow him? She was glad he was gone, he was sure of it. She hated him. Good. He hated her, too. It would stay that way. Oh, gods he wanted to kick something. To scream. To let it all out. But he would not do that as long as that woman could stand witness to it.

"Me?" She grinned slyly. So the tiger was coming out of his cage . . . how refreshing. Maybe now she'd be able to get somewhere. Oh, this was bound to be fun. Maybe she could teach him some manners, after all.



Oh, no. She'd made a mistake. She'd gone too deep. She'd poked and prodded, and got the reaction she wanted, but she just wasn't prepared for it. His emotions were like a force of nature - each one of them reverberating in her bones and giving her a sort of mental whiplash. He wanted to hurt her, that she knew, and she was surprised he hadn't already. She would have deserved it. She new his pain, had felt the same sort of loss that caused his arms to shake and his voice to come out in a growl. She hadn't felt it quite as intensely, but she new a fraction of what he was trying to hide, and she suddenly felt guilty. Stupid. Horrible. And then he was gone, and she was standing there, shocked into silence.

Oh, gods, what had she done? Why? Oh gods, how stupid could she be? She slipped on the flats she always kept at her door, grabbed her cloak, and sped out into the midday air. The day was beautiful, and clean, and he was moving fast, but it wasn't anything she couldn't match if she ran. So ran is what she did. She was three feet behind him when she called his name, and gaining. When she was finally able to touch him, she grabbed hold of his shirt, and pulled, hopefully dragging him into a crevice between two up-town shops, an ally that was cool and dark despite the midday sun, and would provide them with some sort of privacy.

Oh. She was following him. How wonderful. Not. He kept walking, about to quicken his pace when he felt the tug on his shirt. He stopped abruptly, spinning to face her so fast she was bound to smack right into him, or would have been, had he not reached out and fiercely grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her out at arms length. "What the hell do you want?!" He hissed, shoving her away roughly, "Is this not enough? You can't just let me go that easily?" Oh, gods, he was losing himself. He found himself backing away again, trembling with rage and so many other emotions. But he couldn't allow himself to give in. He couldn't allow himself to crumple to the ground, a ball of misery- no. No, he wouldn't do that. He'd had his chance to do that when his world became hell. He had done that, countless times and it never helped.

And it certainly wouldn't help now, in front of this thing that had had the audacity to poke and prod and pry and pick away at him until she'd enticed this reaction from him. It was what she had wanted, wasn't it? She wanted to break him. And then she wanted to leave him that way, a weeping, weak, helpless thing. Leave him for dead, as it were. But she wasn't finished with him, was she? Oh, no- she had to keep going at him. To rub everything in his face until she managed to shatter his defenses completely. She wanted to finish the job.

"You can't just let things well enough alone?" His voice was strangely soft. Completely hollow. The only thing that showed his emotion was the tempest in his eyes, and the slight shaking of his muscles. "Or is it that you just wanted the final blow? Is my walking away not enough of a surrender for you?" His last question raised into another shout. And he was rambling. Oh, gods, what had gotten into him? Get out now. Go. Leave. Run. But he rarely ran. It was a stubborn part of him that almost always led to trouble. His voice was calm and quiet again, "Why don't you just do us both a favor, Miss Anatine, and leave?" For that matter, why wasn't he leaving? He had legs. He had damn long legs- longer than hers- he could easily outrun her. But something kept him rooted, and he had no idea what it was.

She'd . . . she'd hurt him. Why did she do that? Why the hell did she destroy everything that came in her path? What was wrong with her. Part of her wanted to blame it on him. Her shields, her defenses, everything that she had been forced into building, conditioned to have wanted to laugh in his face and call him weak. But she didn't, no, she couldn't. She was too much like her mother. Gran had told her too much about the hardships of other races, and she couldn't, wouldn't be like her father. So she looked up at him, at all the hate that was burning in his eyes. All the pain and sorrow and fear that was stabbing in her mind like ice-cold daggers and she took it. And then it was too much, and the warrior won out.

"God, you can't see beyond your own nose, can you?" She was raging, seething, and completely cold. "Other people have lost things, too. Every day, I get what I've lost and broken and killed shoved in my face, but I can't turn and run. I have to stand and take it, because that is what is expected of me." Her voice was barely above its normal, cool, tone, and yet there was an edge to it. And anger that was almost dangerous. "I don't have the luxury of being invisible. Every day, Artemis, EVERY DAY people pass me, and whisper about that 'poor woman,' and 'where did her father go, anyways?' And I god damn take it." She was close to him, her fists clenched and teeth bared.

"You are a coward with nothing to your name except death and bitterness, and I can't believe I ever thought you might have been more." Her ruby eyes blazed with the heat of her suppressed rage, and her hands stung from the bite of her nails in the smooth flesh of her palms.

He raised a brow at her as she spoke. What the hell did she think she knew? How could she think she knew him so well? She didn't, and she had no right to assume she did. And yet, when she rattled off her insults- even when she called him a coward- he simply stood there and took it. And then he smiled, too warm for him, too fake. Strangely icy with every undertone it carried. "Is that it, then?" His voice was completely even. No emotion was spared. No anger. No fear. No depression. Nothing. Just another blank. Hell, even his eyes were bereft of emotion as he spoke, "Are you quite finished?"

He took a step toward her, still eerily emotionless. "It really is quite humorous. You think me a coward and yet have nothing to base this upon." He laughed. It was a hollow resonance that split the air like ice, and cut a strange slit in his face- and odd quirk to his lips that held no emotion at all. "That really is funny. You must be quite the comedian. But guess what... you forgot the punchline!" He laughed. Again. This one had a cruel edge of irony to it. "And do you know why? There is none! There never is. It's all a cruel joke that never ends." Oh, gods what was he thinking? He felt numb. Faint. The emotions were still there, raging inside him, but only inside him. Even the hate. None of it showed through.

He winced slightly, a hand absently raising to his left shoulder, remnants of an old wound playing up. Perfect. Really. Great timing. He Shook his head, still smiling that smile and continuing as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, gods, if only you knew. Tell me, is that why you came after me? Perhaps not to end it, so much as to tell me your life could possibly compare? Ha! Oh, yes, Miss Anatine, soak it all in. And then spit it right back out. That's what your people do with victory, mm? That's right, don't act surprised. You've won! Congratulations! You've taken your victory and properly shoved it in my face. Guess it wasn't enough to dredge up things about which you know absolutely nothing, but then you had to just go and insult them all by acting like you somehow have a clue. As if you could understand. Really. I am happy for you. So happy that you could so easily flaunt your godsdamned victory.

"Oh, yes. That's right. You were completely right about me. About everything. I'm a coward because I've taken risks and lost everything worth having along the way. I'm a coward because I do everything I can to protect what little I do have left. I'm a coward because I get a little bit offended when someone impugns what honor I have claim to. Because I might be a little bit more cautious about the company I keep. Now... Now that I have properly accepted my defeat," His eyes flashed, every bit of emotion he had been feeling flashing through again in that instant, his voice again harsh, "Get the hell out of my life and stay out. I'm sure we will both be much happier that way."

He nodded, mostly to himself. So he had no idea what had come over him, and some of what he'd said was perhaps a bit uncalled for. But really, who gave a damn? It was all over, now, hopefully. They could move on. He again turned and began walking away from Tallulah, absently rubbing his shoulder, something in his gait daring her to stop him again.

He was leaving a second time, and she couldn't take it. They always left. Always. Left. And she was alone. But as he was walking away, she called after him. "I call you a coward only because you left. You are no better than my father, no better than any of them if you leave." Damn. How had she let that slip out? He was too far away now to just talk to, and she didn't want to yell, so she stood there, shocked and breathless. She felt like she couldn't walk, like she couldn't move. Gods and goddesses, if he turned around now, he might see her shaking. Of course, Tallulah never really cried. She just shook uncontrollably; her shoulders, arms, hands, everything. If it wasn't so disturbing, she guessed it would've been comical.

She had seen the pain hidden in his features, in the way he'd winced and touched his shoulder. The way he'd admitted defeat, if only to get away from her. Her alabaster brow crumpled, and thoughts of what her father had said entered her teaming mind. "Monster," he'd said. "Unfit for love," he'd told her. She brought her hands up to her ears, as if she was trying to close out the sounds from so many years ago. But what if . . . What if she was a monster? What if she didn't deserve anything but hate? She was, and she did. She destroyed even the most feeble of friendships without a second thought. No wonder her own society rejected her.

No wonder she was forced to make friends with self-loathing, bitter, contemptuous wicks. Hah. Like she was any better. Monster. Abomination. Oh, gods, she shouldn't be like this. Shouldn't have let him get to her so easily. She hadn't meant . . . she'd never . . . But yes. She would. Because she was unlovable. Because she was unwanted.

She pressed her back against the wall, face towards the sky, and let her body deal with the overwhelming force of her emotions the only way it could - she let herself tremble, shiver, her teeth chattering and mind racing. It was then that she felt the first raindrop. Really, this day couldn't get any better, could it.

As he walked away he heard a loud clap of thunder, followed by a long, low roar. And the sky, unable to hold back the rain for very long in this time of year, finally let loose big fat drops of rain, and things became quite a bit darker than they had been mere seconds before. He could swear he heard the damn woman calling after him through the storm, as the wind picked up and carried her voice away. He didn't catch all of it. But he understood enough. He stopped dead in his tracks, letting the words sink in like the rain soaking his clothes.

"You are no better than my father, no better than any of them if you leave."

He smirked. She really had no clue. He looked up at the sky, blinking every few seconds as raindrops fell into his eyes, rolled down his cheeks, dripping off his chin, or down his forehead into his hair until it seeped down into his scalp. His white shirt was quickly drenched and clung icily to his body, transparent where it touched his skin.

It was a moment of hesitation. Indecision as to whether he should move on as if he hadn't heard a word she said, or to turn around and give her what she wanted.

He'd already stopped. He realized this. It would be too late to pretend he hadn't heard. He could move on as if he didn't care, because he really, really did not give a damn at this point, and yet... Was it irritation? Was it the desire to have some final word? To put this woman in her place as she had attempted to do to him?

He turned slowly to see her shaking in the rain. It was hard to tell from a distance if she was shaking from cold or from anger. Or fear. It was hard to tell from a distance. And so he closed that distance. Walked toward her until the space between them was almost nonexistent. He looked down at her and could almost feel the emotion radiating from her, crackling in her field. He reached down and in a manner so delicate it might not have suited the man Tallulah had come to expect of him, gripped her chin and tilted her head back so she would look at him- so he could see into her eyes. So he could read her to the best of his abilities.

"Yes. Your father was a coward for leaving you." The words were soft- barely a whisper on the wind. "But he was your father- it was his responsibility to take care of you. If he couldn't bear to love his own child, the least he could have done was stick around until she was old enough to fend for herself. He should have carried out his responsibilities as a father and done his best to raise you. He was a coward for neglecting the daughter who needed him and the responsibilities he had for her." He paused, letting the words wash over her, hoping some might sink into that thick skull of hers, then his voice took on a harder edge, "But at least he is still alive. You always have the option go after him. That you haven't makes you no less a coward than he was.

"It isn't my responsibility to take care of you. If I walk away it is because I have no obligation to you. You drove me away." He smirked, his hand falling away from her face. "My leaving you isn't abandonment. It isn't cowardice. It is a wise decision I make for both of us. It is obvious neither of us gains anything from the other's presence... Good bye, Miss Anatine." That would do. That would be his final words to her- something to remember or forget him by.

He told himself this, but a part of him wasn't sure it would be wise to believe it. But oh how he hoped it would be true. He walked away from her again, more quickly this time, disappearing behind thick sheets of rain. He needed to get to a tavern. He needed a drink. Gods did he need a good, strong drink.

She itched to hit him. To cast pain on him until he begged for mercy. To make him pay for what he'd done. He couldn't just walk in, stir the pot, and leave. Rain was falling around Tallulah, and for once that day, the weather matched her emotions. She was still shaking, still shivering, but now it was more from the cold than anything. He was gone, and she was alone, and yet she didn't feel alone. Her father's condescending force seemed to echo around her mind, his departing words replaying in her head. Weak. Monster. Unlovable. Weak. Monster. Unlovable. Over and over and over and over, making her unbearably dizzy.

But she couldn't be dizzy, no, she was strong. She had to be. She goddamned had to be strong. So Tallulah turned from the ally and walked slowly to her house, face as unreadable as a mask. That's all she was: a mask. That's all she was: the rain. Cold. Harsh. Weak. Monster. Unlovable. She pulled the door of her home open, and stopped in her track when she saw the blank canvas that greeted her.

That's all she was: a blank canvas. A blank fucking canvas. How dare he talk about the as if they were anything more than simple acquaintances? How dare he draw such memories, such emotion from her? That bastard. That bastard. "That bastard!" She yelled to no one, picking up the chair he'd been sitting in, and flinging it at her yellow-golden wall. It crashed, cracking, and fell to the floor to lie amongst the furniture she'd moved earlier. Tallulah, as broken as the chair and awash in her memories, slid to the floor in a crumpled heap, soaking and shaking once again.

She didn't know how long she lay there, but once she stood, her shields and layers were all in place, and she looked as if nothing had happened. There was only the slight heat in her eye that portrayed anything she could have felt. And that burning heat was stoked and fed by one thing and one thing only: hate.