[hr][hr][img]https://i.postimg.cc/65z3m7BP/Anissa-Quinn.gif[/img][hr][hr]
[indent]Anissa almost winced at Heath’s patience, not because it annoyed her, though, far from it. It was more because it was too kind. Too gentle. It felt like being offered something that she’d done nothing to earn. If anything, she still felt she deserved the opposite. She’d been called a snake, and although Anatoliy hadn’t said it in so many words, she might as well tack on fake and judgmental, too. Because the worst part, the part that made her stomach turn, was that he wasn’t completely wrong.

She’d seen it clearly at the gate: the painful look of someone who’d felt deeply and profoundly [i]rejected[/i]. She recognized that shattered expression intimately and knew what it was to carry that specific brand of hurt. And yet, despite that understanding, her careless words had acted like clumsy fingers prying at his barely healed wounds. She hadn’t aimed to cause harm, but her thoughtlessness offered no defence either. And for someone who navigated emotional ruins almost professionally (well, without payment), her lack of caution felt like a personal failure now, a betrayal of her own supposed skills.

Carelessness wasn’t an excuse. It could never be. Not for her. Not for the role she’d always played.

This realization made her burn with shame. She possessed an entire arsenal of knowledge built on grief and broken spirits, barely clinging to what was left of their lives. She handled the departed with reverence, creating sacred space for their memory. So why, faced with a living, breathing soul radiating that same brokenness, had she fumbled so catastrophically? Why had her instinct been defensiveness instead of sensitivity?

Anatoliy’s anger had been cutting, his words cruel. She couldn’t deny that. But a chilling possibility took root: maybe she’d unknowingly struck the first spark to begin with. Perhaps her presence, her words, her very [i]existence[/i] in that moment had carelessly disturbed a deep, private pain she had no right to approach. And now, standing in the aftermath of that self-inflicted wreckage, Heath offered simple kindness again. It felt jarring, almost surreal, as if the ugly confrontation with Anatoliy had never occurred, as if she hadn’t just proven herself capable of causing that kind of hurt.

[color=5a3e85]“Right. The lost and found….”[/color] Anissa’s fingers closed around the guitar’s neck, then abruptly released it, as if the contact burned. [color=5a3e85]“Didn’t want to just… leave it. That felt wrong,”[/color] she repeated, her voice flat and distant. Yet holding it now felt equally wrong, tainted by association. Heath seemed inherently reliable, the perfect person to ensure its safe return alone. The logical solution was clear: let him take it. 

Her gaze moved back towards Heath’s calm face. He radiated trustworthiness. The kind of person who kept promises without fanfare, who would carry the instrument faithfully to its owner without a single sigh of inconvenience. Furthermore, he was someone who absolutely didn’t deserve to be pulled into the emotional debris field she was currently trailing.

[color=5a3e85]“You could… go ahead if you want,”[/color] Anissa offered to Heath, the words feeling clumsy and insufficient as she pushed herself up from her crouch. Her eyes darted away from his understanding gaze, unable to hold it, seeking the safer distance of the bonfire’s glow. The suggestion was partly genuine as sparing him her awkward company felt merciful, but also layered with a selfish desire to be alone again, to escape yet another well-meaning interaction she felt unworthy of and would more than likely fuck up. 

Her attention snagged on a figure near the flames. River was still there, engaged in conversation with a camper she didn't recognize this time. The stranger wore thick layers, bundled against a cold that seemed to have retreated from the place by magic. [color=5a3e85] [i]Like they hadn’t noticed[/i][/color], she thought, a bit of judgment surfacing before she caught herself. 

[color=5a3e85][i]Who am I to talk?[/i][/color] Her own hands were comfortably warm inside her soft suede gloves, yet she had no intention of removing them. Not unless….

Anissa frowned, dismissing the idea immediately. 

[color=5a3e85]“You don’t have to walk me there,”[/color] she reiterated, forcing her focus back to Heath. [color=5a3e85]“You’ve already been…”[/color] She let the sentence hang, the unspoken 'kind enough' obvious. She couldn't bring herself to voice it directly, however. Needing to fill the silence and provide a plausible escape route, she tacked on, [color=5a3e85]“Besides, I uh…skipped out on food before and I think I saw a snack table when I got here so….”[/color] She trailed off, making a vague, dismissive wave towards the general direction of the table in question. The excuse was flimsy, but she aimed for casual indifference, hoping it masked her desire to simply dissolve back into the crowd alone.

[color=5a3e85]“Anissa, by the way,”[/color] she added almost as an afterthought, though it was an intentional reintroduction after her earlier forgetfulness. This time, she kept her hands firmly to herself, no offer of a handshake. Instead, needing an action to punctuate the moment, she lifted her nearly empty glass a second later. She gave the dregs of cranberry juice and melted ice a swirl, then tipped it back, finishing the last bit of it.  
[/indent][hr] 
Location: Outskirts of the field/party  
Interactions: Heath ([@Pristine1281])
Mentions: Anatoliy, River, Marlen