before those hands pulled me from the earth

a stark, nearly malignant shadow smeared across the pale strand, over her frame. She looked up, fierce little eyes asquint against the glare. Atlas.

A baleful scowl riddled her countenance and she delivered an ugly look -- he hadn't even praised her valiant efforts nor called into question the sanity behind it. She sharply exhaled and began to study her blackened claws with newfound interest -- as if the slick way they glistened in the ruddy sun was more interesting than him.

Finally, she spoke. "Can I help you?" Accusatory and cold -- yet somehow, she found herself reluctant to admit she was happy for the company.