( it's not not her, she wants to protest — more impressive than her summoning is her affinity for, by dint of terrible luck, making situations worse. like grasping at a knot, trying one's damndest to untie it, only to tighten it into a worse ball. the point is: she's made it no easier on grace. still, she doesn't allow herself to sink too deeply into that shallow tide of self-pity alina can feel rising; she focuses, instead, on feathering her thumb down grace's wrist in up-down strokes. light, as if anything more might fracture her into a thousand fragile pieces. )

We don't have to talk about it.

( and she means it, in its quiet honesty. really means it — alina starkov's own personal hurts are kept carefully in a locked box, taken out and inspected only when she has the masochistic need to punish herself. she won't pry her fingers into grace's, in mutual respect for a similarly broken woman, who alina is beginning to suspect is bruised in all the same ways alina has been. )

I think I understand, ( she hedges, hesitant. risking not only brushing up against grace's sore spots, but all of alina's scar tissue, too. ) I know what it's like to find yourself trapped, and to promise yourself you'll never let anyone trick you into feeling that powerless again.