Some distant part of her recognizes that that little speech was meant to be complimentary, a sort of 'good for you for retaining your sanity, well done.' But he's wrong. Angels, it seems, are capable of landing really, tragically far from the carthaginian mark. And despite the bright sun and hot tea (hot as if Mary had poured it), Sunshine feels a cold ball of fury uncoiling in her gut. She doesn't even hear his prattling about Bibles over the ringing in her ears.
"You know what," she says, her tone surprisingly, deceptively civil as she pushes herself upright in her chair, "you have no idea what I went through when I faced that - that thing down in reality. You think I was strong?" Then, sharp with indignation, "You think I resisted? I was half - more than halfway out of my mind the entire time; I wouldn't have been able to get within ten yards of him if I hadn't had help, if he hadn't... compelled me."
She's glaring at him, now, and part of her is appalled with herself for glaring at an angel, but the larger part of her is too angry to care what he is. "The only reason I was able to destroy him is because I was certain it was the last thing I would ever do, because the idea of surviving it all was ludicrous, and I thought…" she falters, the horror of the memory beginning to overtake her a little. She has never spoken of this so bluntly before. Not even with Con. "I thought it would be worth it, if I could just… take him with me." The image of Con being swarmed by Bo's elite flashes through her mind, and she shrinks in on herself. The teacup rattles against its saucer as she sets it down, and she folds her arms tight against her stomach. "I almost died. I… meant to. I was not… strong."
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"You know what," she says, her tone surprisingly, deceptively civil as she pushes herself upright in her chair, "you have no idea what I went through when I faced that - that thing down in reality. You think I was strong?" Then, sharp with indignation, "You think I resisted? I was half - more than halfway out of my mind the entire time; I wouldn't have been able to get within ten yards of him if I hadn't had help, if he hadn't... compelled me."
She's glaring at him, now, and part of her is appalled with herself for glaring at an angel, but the larger part of her is too angry to care what he is. "The only reason I was able to destroy him is because I was certain it was the last thing I would ever do, because the idea of surviving it all was ludicrous, and I thought…" she falters, the horror of the memory beginning to overtake her a little. She has never spoken of this so bluntly before. Not even with Con. "I thought it would be worth it, if I could just… take him with me." The image of Con being swarmed by Bo's elite flashes through her mind, and she shrinks in on herself. The teacup rattles against its saucer as she sets it down, and she folds her arms tight against her stomach. "I almost died. I… meant to. I was not… strong."