It's a start (p, Moon)

"Exile." The word has a bitter taste on her tongue, and she doesn't like it. Deep down, some part of her was hoping this was enough grounds for death, and the more logical part, the part that knew what would happen if she died, clashed with the other. Before, she couldn't care if she lived or died, was exiled or not. But now? She did, and it hurt, caring this much.

Look at what you get, child, for telling the truth. Feel any better now? Thea shook her head, trying to get rid of those annoying little whispers. "Yes, actually, I do. It hurts, though. I don't understand why." She muttered under her breath, saying nothing to Moon as she turned, heading out the door, her paws itching to reach up and grasp the cord around her neck, either to rip it off or to find a source of comfort in it, she didn't know.

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