❝ why aren't you afraid? don't you know what I've done? ❞
Steady hands smoothed at the ( already ) pristine fabric of white skirt, and gaze fixated upon them for a time. Briefly, imagination is allowed to run rampant and suddenly they are being broken, shattered, fingers twisted and the entirety of the bodily structured reduced to nothingness. Unusable and unnecessary, never able to hold anything again, and pain is scorching up pale arms. And in the space between one blink and the next, they are healed, and whole, and there would be yet another day where they can hold a brush, a pencil.
Attention lifted, and caught upon the young man —— or perhaps just man? —— as flaxen crowned head tilted and chin lifted, gaze assessing. Imagination flared once more, and suddenly a keyblade was being driven through thin chest, its entrance point being the sternum and its exit snapping the spinal cord. Body melted into darkness and all that was known was nothingness, never ending torture in the VOID. But whole chest expanded with an inhale, and there was naught an injury in site.
There were a great many things which could have been done to instill fear into her, had he wished to do so. Manipulation, abuse of the face which he shared ( and she was no longer quite so in awe of ), destruction of her temporary body, an immediate sentence into darkness. Instead, she was still in one piece, and there had been no offenses done to her; no offenses which she had witnessed and was distraught by ( very little could distress her any longer, however ) and she imagined that the answer should have already been known. But, evidently, it was not, and the distance between them closed, until there was merely a foot, perhaps less separating them. A vague smile quirked at pale lips and her fingers threaded together, settling in the valleys, palms nearly kissing.
“If you wanted me to be afraid, then I would be.”