Then I smiled faintly — but it wasn’t a kind smile. It was cold. “You already know you’re being thick-skinned to even ask,” I said, my voice sharp and low. “So don’t. If you want one, earn it yourself.” My eyes swept over her slight figure, her trembling hands. “But you can’t, can you? Because you don’t have the kind of talent I do.”
Her cheeks flushed at that, the pale skin turning pink with embarrassment, but she didn’t back down.
Instead, she clung tighter to the crystal, whispering, “Why are you saying it like that? I wasn’t going to keep it… just to keep it at home for a few days. Are you really so stingy you won’t even lend it to me? Am I being so unreasonable to you?”
I said nothing. I simply extended my hand, my meaning clear.
Give it back. But she refused to let go. Her grip tightened, her lip trembled.
I tightened my fingers on the base of the hawthorn tree, tugging it toward me.
“Give it to me!” I almost screamed in annoyance.
“Why can’t you just lend it?!”
The fragile thing slipped between our hands.
Time seemed to slow as it fell, spinning once, twice — then shattered on the hardwood floor.