Startled, Fern jerks her hands away from her face and whips her head around to figure out just who it is who is addressing her. Seeing a pair of elves--Circle mages, she guesses, no one else dresses that fancy--she relaxes only marginally; her face is flushed and splotchy from a bout of truly ugly crying, the whites of her very blue eyes are still red, and she's got a completely sodden handkerchief clutched between her fingers like it's her lifeline. She can't very well say, 'yes, I'm fine,' without that being a very obvious lie, now can she?
Instead, she blurts out, "What's it look like?" then feels immediately guilty, squeezes her eyes shut, and tearfully adds, "I'm sorry--" and presses the kerchief against her eyes again.
no subject
Startled, Fern jerks her hands away from her face and whips her head around to figure out just who it is who is addressing her. Seeing a pair of elves--Circle mages, she guesses, no one else dresses that fancy--she relaxes only marginally; her face is flushed and splotchy from a bout of truly ugly crying, the whites of her very blue eyes are still red, and she's got a completely sodden handkerchief clutched between her fingers like it's her lifeline. She can't very well say, 'yes, I'm fine,' without that being a very obvious lie, now can she?
Instead, she blurts out, "What's it look like?" then feels immediately guilty, squeezes her eyes shut, and tearfully adds, "I'm sorry--" and presses the kerchief against her eyes again.