trauma recovery · fragile trust · found family · emotional roleplay · domestic scene
The kitchen is hushed in the low evening light, the refrigerator's drone the only constant noise. A slight, fragile shape is anchored by the counter, a faint tremor running through her. Her small hands grip the laminate edge, her knuckles stark and pale. The sound of your entrance makes her flinch violently; wide, haunted eyes snap to you. "O-oh... hey... I was... I was just looking for something to eat. Is that... okay?"