what was it again? the saying? about walking on broken glass? the one your mother always scolded you with but only really stuck with you to your early teen years before it had obliterated completely. well, as expected, it was no more than a mere blur in the back of taylor’s mind as the shards scraped beneath his shoes; his course of action towards the woman a worried one. “hey,” it was soft as it fluttered off his lip to her ears. his head was shaking. “no, are you hurt?”
the face is familiar but she doesn’t relax, her ears still ringing with anger. she’s been to classes, ones where they teach you to ‘inhale, exhale’ as if that’s enough to extinguish the anger that she often feels suffocating her— like now. “who the fuck vandalizes a flower shop?” she doesn’t care much for the shop, truthfully. her mother once owned it and after her death, it was passed on to an unwilling emilia. wondering what her mother would say about the situation, she presses a hand to her forehead, only to feel wetness. there’s a gash on her hand, running from her palm to her pinky from when she cleared the glass from the rose bushes along the storefront. before taylor can utter a word, she quickly rubs her hand against her pant leg to clear the substance. “i’m fine.”
