Principal Weems is sitting in her office with a brilliant, socially-troubled student; one who senses something is wrong, but can't figure out what it is. The student is looking at her with all the desperation of a child who fears the withdrawal of attention and affection as certain death. The student is saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
What would Principal Weems do?
She takes off her gloves, then her earrings and cuff bracelet, and steps out of her shoes. She tries not to feel Millicent's fear and concern. She tries to push it down to wherever the feelings go, but it keeps bobbing up to the surface, insistently buoyant. Because she isn't Principal Weems, of course, still. She is still just Larissa, and this is Millicent, and nothing can be easy.
She puts her jewelry away in its cream-coloured leather traveling case. The pearls on her earrings, the hammered texture of the bracelet: comforting details, things that remind her of the world's reality outside of Castle Dracula. She takes a breath and readies herself and sits next to Millicent on the bed. The immediacy of her dark, alert eyes is extremely affecting, which Larissa tries not to show; she tries not to appreciate the intimacy of her bare face and braided hair, either.
"I'll take off my makeup," she says, "then if you'd like to help me with my hair, of course--I'd enjoy that." She reaches for Millicent's wringing hands. They're blindingly warm against her own; tingles travel up her arms at once, which is very inconvenient when one is trying to focus. "You apologised for quite a lot of things. Thank you. It was unnecessary--" her eyelids lower a degree--"except for what you said about Orkney, and afterward." Her expression settles again. "Thank you," she repeats.
"It's very difficult for me to discuss my emotions." She closes her eyes briefly, and soldiers on. "Especially when I understand that they are unwelcome." Here in this house, here with her family, here between her and Millicent. Larissa reminds herself that she's already taken her time to be bitter, and that there's no point in sulking. She'll be as clear as she can, without reverting to Principal Weems, and it will be awful, but what else is there to do? Leave Millicent to foment in confusion and suffering? (As Millicent was happy to do to her? Five other people? We're done with bitterness just now.)
"Please, just..." Hold me. Touch me. I've been waiting. She swallows and lets go of Millicent's hands. The scents of coconut, cinnamon, and sugar are so insistent that she feels a little tipsy. If she stays here, she'll ask for it--to be touched. Comforted. Held, and kissed, and treated as worthwhile. Differently from before, when Millicent was desiring and open and yielding to her; Larissa wants to be the one reached-for, which she doesn't think is likely to happen. Why wait in hope? Why invite disappointment? "Thank you for your patience. I'm going to go wash my face."