[Realm of Little Alice]
She knew that what she was doing now reeked of desperation.
There was no elegance in it, no carefully maintained dignity she could hide behind. Reaching out like this, to him of all people—someone she found irritating and insufferable, someone whose presence alone had a way of unsettling her composure—it was beneath what she told herself she should be.
And yet, despite everything she told herself, despite the irritation and despite the disdain she tried to cling to, her thoughts betrayed her.
Because somewhere deeper, beneath the pride and the irritation and the constructed image of a "young lady," there was something far more honest she could not hide.
And that was why she remained where she was, hand extended and waiting.
Alice was desperate.
She could admit that now, if only to herself.
Because what was she, truly, without that missing piece?
