It bites out of Allison's mouth with an unforgiving, fast force Allison wants to pull back. But she can't because it's already out. Unimpressed acidity turned accusation, handling the feeling of this bewildering impossibly-happening thing only digging deeper and deeper into her guts, tearing through them with barbed edges, the only way she's ever handled anything.
Allison can't tell if it's anger. Or jealousy. Or the question of whether she should be, and has no right to be, either. When somehow Luther has equated her to everyone else, while everyone else wasn't even here (and, if she's the same, what does that say about her?). Never mentioned her, never mentioned Jane (and there's no reason for either unless this is something else, has some other reason).
But for the moment, all of those things are so small beside the thing that only sucks them in like coals to feed an even deeper, far more relentless void.
She's spent the last two and half years being erased from the narrative of a life being lived by two-thirds of Dallas. Something to be ignored, belittled, reviled, categorized, homogenized, forgotten entirely as though she never existed as herself in the first place. She knows this feeling (the way it curdles in her stomach, making her feel so much smaller even as she'd rebelled from it) so well it feels normal.
She just never thought she'd ever feel it looking at Luther.
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It bites out of Allison's mouth with an unforgiving, fast force Allison wants to pull back. But she can't because it's already out. Unimpressed acidity turned accusation, handling the feeling of this bewildering impossibly-happening thing only digging deeper and deeper into her guts, tearing through them with barbed edges, the only way she's ever handled anything.
Allison can't tell if it's anger. Or jealousy. Or the question of whether she should be, and has no right to be, either. When somehow Luther has equated her to everyone else, while everyone else wasn't even here (and, if she's the same, what does that say about her?). Never mentioned her, never mentioned Jane (and there's no reason for either unless this is something else, has some other reason).
But for the moment, all of those things are so small beside the thing that only sucks them in like coals to feed an even deeper, far more relentless void.
She's spent the last two and half years being erased from the narrative of a life being lived by two-thirds of Dallas. Something to be ignored, belittled, reviled, categorized, homogenized, forgotten entirely as though she never existed as herself in the first place. She knows this feeling (the way it curdles in her stomach, making her feel so much smaller even as she'd rebelled from it) so well it feels normal.
She just never thought she'd ever feel it looking at Luther.