There’s a deep ache in her knuckles, the skin rubbed raw. It’s been a long time since she threw a punch; not since her training at Xavier’s. Tiffany isn’t sure if her muscle memory retained that training, but she supposes so because her hands would be in a worse state if she’d fought without proper form. She has to suppose because she can’t remember; and now she feels like a sleepwalker, woken to be told that they’d committed some awful act. Are you still innocent if you weren’t cognizant of your actions? Tiffany doesn’t feel innocent. There’s a lot of chaos, a lot of noise, but now she sits quiet in a dark corner, looking at her hands. Fingers splayed, she turns her hands this way and that. They don’t look like her hands. They don’t feel like her hands. They’re the hands of a stranger. @august-specter
