She cocks her head at him; watches him move to center stage. It's like being watched by an admiring friend, proud of him, happy to see him come into his own. It's like being watched by a tiger crouching in the brush, hungry, ready to spring at him.
But he doesn't run, and she doesn't chase. Instead she considers his question, and there's something more human now in the way she relaxes her stance.
"It can," she decides. "If you let go of the hurt you've given yourself, and don't let anyone else give you more of it."
She steps toward the stairs at the edge of the stage, and Jeff might realize it's the first he's--the first anyone's--seen her simply walk from one spot to another rather than appear and disappear or charge at her quarry in a claws-out sprint. It's the most human she's looked. It still doesn't look right.
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But he doesn't run, and she doesn't chase. Instead she considers his question, and there's something more human now in the way she relaxes her stance.
"It can," she decides. "If you let go of the hurt you've given yourself, and don't let anyone else give you more of it."
She steps toward the stairs at the edge of the stage, and Jeff might realize it's the first he's--the first anyone's--seen her simply walk from one spot to another rather than appear and disappear or charge at her quarry in a claws-out sprint. It's the most human she's looked. It still doesn't look right.