Feb 28, 2019
The butler pouts, a sweet feigning of pity for the unfortunate soul. Gloved fingers brush the smooth surface of her palm, observing the delicate process of flesh weaving together. It could have been far worse, but the scrapes that once marred her were nothing to sneeze at. No doubt her shoulders ache from bracing her fall, or her knees burn from healing scrapes of their own. Overall, he doesn’t envy the experience.
“I’m sorry your day has not gone as planned,” Sebastian offers gently. To console is a difficult concept, but he finds it easier to grasp these days. “I don’t suppose there is something I can do to make it better?”
@hurtbywhisperedmuses