[ And, of course, that's exactly why she doesn't want to do it. Armor is a sanctuary, and the helmet more than anything else spells safety. ]
… [ With a sigh, she reaches up to thumb the seals. Tugs the helmet off slowly, and holds it tucked under her arm. There. There she is, Puma, are you happy now? She looks so much older now, within a year of his own age. Her skin is pale, littered with scars—the cut on her chin from Washington's knife, a gash over the bridge of her nose, the score of a bullet's path across her cheek—and the bags beneath her eyes are dark; far darker than his. ]
[ But. ]
[ There's still that spark in her eyes, burning bright and fierce. It's a spark that's matured over the years, blossomed from naïve joy, to Kyriakos' stumbling resolve, to … this. To a woman who gets back up again no matter how many times she's knocked down, no matter how much she loses. ]
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[ And, of course, that's exactly why she doesn't want to do it. Armor is a sanctuary, and the helmet more than anything else spells safety. ]
… [ With a sigh, she reaches up to thumb the seals. Tugs the helmet off slowly, and holds it tucked under her arm. There. There she is, Puma, are you happy now? She looks so much older now, within a year of his own age. Her skin is pale, littered with scars—the cut on her chin from Washington's knife, a gash over the bridge of her nose, the score of a bullet's path across her cheek—and the bags beneath her eyes are dark; far darker than his. ]
[ But. ]
[ There's still that spark in her eyes, burning bright and fierce. It's a spark that's matured over the years, blossomed from naïve joy, to Kyriakos' stumbling resolve, to … this. To a woman who gets back up again no matter how many times she's knocked down, no matter how much she loses. ]