Dinner proceeds to be silent and rather awkward. The seeping wounds of the past feel numb now and no matter how rational I am about it, it feels wrong. Wrong that I had the guts to tell all this to a stranger. A charming one, but a stranger nonetheless.
Across from me, picking at her food, Persephone sits in silence. It feels like she is brooding over something and as much as I want to care, I don't. Maybe I am delusional to think she cares about my past. And if I am, I don't want to know. And that's why I don't want to care about the reason her brows are always arched in that frown that makes her face appear a little sharper.
After long minutes we spent in silence, she slowly looks up at me while she leans into her seat, crossing her arms on her chest. Well, I think this will be interes
