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Summary
"well maybe," she snaps, voice that of a vicious, cornered hound, "one can become so wrapped up in their own world that they can't even see what's right in front of them."
Henry's face, carved and nearly ominous in the white light of snowfall, reflects no emotion. his voice similar, carved as though pulled from the snapping depths of that chasmous stare.
"or, perhaps they've chosen not to see."a silence that cuts through the room, tension seeping from the walls much like the cold air that curls in tendrils through the windows.
his words almost send her flinching. her eyes, a blizzard; fueled by wounded pride and freezing resentment. I felt as though something massive had shifted; something larger than me, larger than any of us.