Fox's Glade [M]Macchiato

Anselm was not prepared for the openness in which Suzu addressed him. 

At first, his pale yellow eyes opened, and the shadow that darkened their depths seemed momentarily lifted. And yet, a blackness shortly eclipsed them thereafter, and a door within those accipitrine yellow plains slammed shut. 

Why? Why did she want to know him? What good would it cause? Any time he had been vulnerable, that vulnerability had been sharpened into a weapon to lodge against him. She was, in effect, Etienne’s sister — meaning she was cut from a similar cloth. As much as he wanted so very desperately to be perceived and loved, he had learned he was not deserving of it — and he had learned the rest of the world was equally damaged and ready to use it against him. 

 There was no safe harbor for him to lodge his soul against — only a barren and rocky shore with its toothsome edges bared. 

He drew his posture to a close. No, Suzu. His gaze had hardened in seconds. There was a part of him that withered to be so cold, but that voice was growing quieter by the day now, and eventually it, along with many other parts of Anselm, would wither into nothing but a wisp of smoke. 

He turned back to Rivenwood, disgusted with himself and his actions.