[She's shifted slightly upright, staring at him in utter disbelief, heart beating doubletime at his words. Maybe, just maybe...
Of course, there's still that part of her that insists she's a tool, someone who can't pity and who certainly would never be pitied back, and anyway, she doesn't deserve it. She could pity him back, she thinks. Doc Scratch and Lord English were lying. But as much as she wants to say it, the words stick in her throat and she just can't. She prays it's obvious in the way she wraps her arms around his and hugs it tight, even if the gesture is made slightly awkward and slow by uncertainty.]
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Of course, there's still that part of her that insists she's a tool, someone who can't pity and who certainly would never be pitied back, and anyway, she doesn't deserve it. She could pity him back, she thinks. Doc Scratch and Lord English were lying. But as much as she wants to say it, the words stick in her throat and she just can't. She prays it's obvious in the way she wraps her arms around his and hugs it tight, even if the gesture is made slightly awkward and slow by uncertainty.]