( it isn't that she's unsympathetic to grace's thrashing, all of the wriggling panic of a fish speared on a hook, an animal prepared to have its head mounted on the wall. she endures it longer than she otherwise would, rope burn chafing alina's fragile wrists into a raw, fileted pink — but there's only so much discomfort she can take. only so long she can stand the dark nostalgia of looking into a mirror, seeing herself reflected in grace's mounting fear — the familiar eyes of a girl resisting the noose of a trap, sensing her own helplessness.

the deja-vu of it makes her own skin constrict impossibly tight around her skeleton, suffocating in the prison of her body. alina heaves a labored exhale and wrenches her arm to the side with a lemon-puckered scowl to her mouth, interrupting grace's persistent tugging. )

Ow.

( grumbled out petulantly, pointedly, as her fingertips rub soothing circles into the abused bone. )

Well, I'd like to keep my arm in one piece, if it's all the same to you. ( she doesn't expect grace to look contrite, in the wake of alina's obvious pain — no one has ever much cared for what she's had to endure, if setting her on fire would keep them warm. so, she huddles her arm more protectively against her chest, inadvertently jerking grace closer to her side. ) I didn't ask to be married to you, either, but you don't see me trying to tear your skin to shreds.