"Oh, I always do," she says airily, in a tone which sounds a little more like she was glossing over events than it was meant to. Recognising the botched line she gives it a split second, then lets her eyes soften as she delivers a slightly apologetic smile; sorry, I'll tell you the truth.
Whether she actually will or not is somewhat up for debate, but what follows is at least part of it, in a low and intimate tone:
"Staying in a safehouse was worse than being outside. Or- so I thought when I was locked in there. Maybe the grass is always greener on the other side of the nightmare."
But there's something in her slow, wry, careful pronunciation of nightmare- she sounds less like she's talking about her own life and more like she's recounting some sort of horror story, just frightening enough to be exciting- because that's how she likes to look at it, to keep herself sane. She's smiling still.
no subject
Whether she actually will or not is somewhat up for debate, but what follows is at least part of it, in a low and intimate tone:
"Staying in a safehouse was worse than being outside. Or- so I thought when I was locked in there. Maybe the grass is always greener on the other side of the nightmare."
But there's something in her slow, wry, careful pronunciation of nightmare- she sounds less like she's talking about her own life and more like she's recounting some sort of horror story, just frightening enough to be exciting- because that's how she likes to look at it, to keep herself sane. She's smiling still.