“ it feels like it. ” the anger boiling in her veins has now come to a simmer, a warm, slow simmer. back leans against the chair he’s sat her down in and expression is utterly crestfallen.
“ i don’t —- ” hands are bundled in her lap, being continuously wrung against each other, as if the excess movement would rid her of this overwhelming emotion. eyes settle on them because thalia is entirely unable to meet his. “ i don’t know how this happened. ” it comes out as a whisper, nearly inaudible, and swimming in a mixture of embarrassment and shame. “ i don’t —- i don’t get angry, ” thalia repeats incredulously. ( of course, anyone who knew her for more than five minutes could guess bouts of anger were rare for her. ) eyes are finally raised meet his, desperately searching them for an answer — if he was able to supply one — before head is bowed again. “ i’m —– i’m sorry you had to see that. ”
