[ Where does she keep that fan, anyway? Because one moment she's standing across the room from Sawatari, her hands balled into fists at her side, and the next she's nearly atop him, swinging the folded paper of her slapstick fan with all the force of a baseball bat, a sledgehammer, a battleaxe. It's a miracle that the fan itself hasn't caught fire, from how hot her anger burns.
That kind of nonchalant admission — doesn't he understand what he's done? How clueless, how idiotic is he? She doesn't know what hurts worse, the betrayal now, or how this filter of light changes every scene that came before.
She smacks him with the fan a second time for good measure before throwing it aside, hurt coalescing and bubbling up from her chest, tightening around her throat and in her face and at her eyes, tears burning in her eyes. It hurts just to breathe.
What's left that she can't leave behind? Once she crosses back through that threshold and pulls the door shut behind her, he won't be able to follow her anymore. With unsteady balance, she turns back to the desk. Just the horns, imbued with her holy magic... if she has to leave her journals behind, so be it, but she can't stay here any longer. ]
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That kind of nonchalant admission — doesn't he understand what he's done? How clueless, how idiotic is he? She doesn't know what hurts worse, the betrayal now, or how this filter of light changes every scene that came before.
She smacks him with the fan a second time for good measure before throwing it aside, hurt coalescing and bubbling up from her chest, tightening around her throat and in her face and at her eyes, tears burning in her eyes. It hurts just to breathe.
What's left that she can't leave behind? Once she crosses back through that threshold and pulls the door shut behind her, he won't be able to follow her anymore. With unsteady balance, she turns back to the desk. Just the horns, imbued with her holy magic... if she has to leave her journals behind, so be it, but she can't stay here any longer. ]