[ Bibi talks and talks; the assured cadence of her voice washes over Amy. She isn’t calm, exactly, but her tears slow from a sputtering cry, her uncontrollable shaking mellowing to the occasional tremor under Bibi’s hands.
Her expression is still twisted and upset, but it’s softened: a different kind of anxiety, another flavor of fear, a guilty longing and a terrified sort of hope. ]
I’m not… I’m not supposed to…
[ She’s not collapsing, but it’s becomes more and more like Bibi is holding Amy up by her face. ]
no subject
Her expression is still twisted and upset, but it’s softened: a different kind of anxiety, another flavor of fear, a guilty longing and a terrified sort of hope. ]
I’m not… I’m not supposed to…
[ She’s not collapsing, but it’s becomes more and more like Bibi is holding Amy up by her face. ]
I’m not well.