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Summary
So she stayed silent and didn’t talk back, forced her eyes to not wander, hid, bared herself as an offering to Al-Hashimi's dark-brown gaze. Held it a little too long and a little too silently, maybe, to fit into her usual patterns. The shortest creasing of a brow, the letting her off with a gentle warning that was too gentle for what she would usually have gotten.
Pity is the highest and most final form of contempt, the last saint before downfall, maybe that’s why she takes to it so well.
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Sometimes things have to get really bad before they can get better again - and oh, how she tries.