“Maybe I really don’t understand,” a befuddled mother hummed, a hand running down her face, “maybe I’m just too jittery. People are k-kind here; they wouldn’t ever think a harmful thought towards me . . or my family. I mean, really, should I be so scared all the time or am I just a c-coward?” Pushing a strand of hair behind her ears, she refused the wind the pleasure of disrupting her troubling thoughts, or excusing whoever had stopped to hear her lamenting.
The expression that formed on Clarice’s face could only be described as great puzzlement. Nose scrunching in confusion, she let the woman beside her ramble on before butting in, cutting her off before she snowballed into a full-on existential crisis. “Nah, you’re no coward.” The witch reassured her. She wanted to reach out a comforting touch, but knew when it was best to hold back. The anxiety radiating off of her was enough to seep into Clara, too. “What are some of the good things about being here? Apart from kindness… might help you relax a little.”
