[It's like she's a marionette with its strings cut, rather than Red Riding Hood in her cloak and skirt and fishnet stockings; he says don't be afraid and all of a sudden she isn't anymore, all the stress and anxiety of forcing herself to brave this haunted house again — when all things considered she would rather be anywhere but here — giving way to a powerful, almost exhausted relief.]
God. You're a sight for sore eyes.
[It's like it doesn't even register, his previous outburst of unexpected rage. She'd seen it, of course, and noted it, obviously, but why should she care? It wasn't directed at her. He says don't be afraid and of course he means of the haunted house, because there's nothing else to be afraid of to begin with.
She draws another long breath, then lets it out again. It's like she's grasping for the wherewithal to find words to begin with, and what she eventually manages to dredge up is a sliver of humor.]
Little Red's been running into more than wolves, up here.
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God. You're a sight for sore eyes.
[It's like it doesn't even register, his previous outburst of unexpected rage. She'd seen it, of course, and noted it, obviously, but why should she care? It wasn't directed at her. He says don't be afraid and of course he means of the haunted house, because there's nothing else to be afraid of to begin with.
She draws another long breath, then lets it out again. It's like she's grasping for the wherewithal to find words to begin with, and what she eventually manages to dredge up is a sliver of humor.]
Little Red's been running into more than wolves, up here.