[ she'd been prepared for a rebuttal, ready to shrug it off and just keep running. but his easy surrender has her stalling, fingers numbing around the laces of those stupid heeled boots she found stuffed inside that bedroom wardrobe. she eyes him for a moment, recognizing him as one of the few in the mansion who wouldn't disappear when she stared too hard. another "guest" like herself, she assumes, though it's tough to tell from his demeanor if he's been here any longer than she has. ]
Not like there'd be a lot of winning to be done, sitting around like that.
[ it's less accusatory and more chiding. how's he expect to win if he's already given up? but this is the same girl who dragged herself out of her childhood's ashes, with only her anger and grief to propel her forward. to mae, giving up is as good as dying. and she wasn't about to give anyone who put her to death the first time that same kind of satisfaction.
—he's here, though, her mind supplies. he got as far as going to where the world starts to tip on its side and that's — that's something. why would he stop now? ]
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Not like there'd be a lot of winning to be done, sitting around like that.
[ it's less accusatory and more chiding. how's he expect to win if he's already given up? but this is the same girl who dragged herself out of her childhood's ashes, with only her anger and grief to propel her forward. to mae, giving up is as good as dying. and she wasn't about to give anyone who put her to death the first time that same kind of satisfaction.
—he's here, though, her mind supplies. he got as far as going to where the world starts to tip on its side and that's — that's something. why would he stop now? ]