Dawnlark Plains nothing good ever happens at the goddamn thirsty crow

nothing that hadn't already been decided, conducted, and witnessed. 
she offered no reaction, initially, besides a sidestep into silence, of voice and of her features. she met his gaze evenly, as if to accept the hurt and shame and pain the burned there like a fire left abandoned in the hopes it would burn out. she knew, before he elaborated, what he spoke of, and her response came only after the air between them had turned stale a moment. "he is nothing, not to me." she paused, feeling that first he should no this; there was no other, only the act. 

guilt had lurked around the edges of her conscious, but somehow, it was no her own. it was the knowledge that she would hurt him should he ever find out, the added weight of another secret to keep. but it seemed to hardly be a secret, after all, and the blurred edges of that unexplored guilt were suddenly pulled into sharp focus. she ought to speak, but she could only wait for the blow to fall, wanted it to.