Coming over to peer into the box, Benedict helps himself to a silky black ribbon, which he withdraws with an appraising look before glancing hopefully to Gela.
It's difficult to see her, to hear her voice, without remembering her on the other side of a steel grate, weak and tired and hopeless: the taste of tattered leather, the smell of mildew, the cold. But here they both are, hale and healthy, like it never happened. Altering a dress.
"Could we do something with this?" he asks, extending the ribbon to its full length.
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Coming over to peer into the box, Benedict helps himself to a silky black ribbon, which he withdraws with an appraising look before glancing hopefully to Gela.
It's difficult to see her, to hear her voice, without remembering her on the other side of a steel grate, weak and tired and hopeless: the taste of tattered leather, the smell of mildew, the cold.
But here they both are, hale and healthy, like it never happened. Altering a dress.
"Could we do something with this?" he asks, extending the ribbon to its full length.