She knows that tone, she recognizes it, and hearing it again—hearing it here, with this quiet boy and his fragile curiosity twists a double-edged knife back into a place in her heart she'd almost thought had healed. It's only by the grace of long practice that her fingers don't fumble, don't drop the last of the parts across the floor.
She doesn't . . .
She doesn't know how to fix this.
She can fix machines. She can build and repair. But there's no screw or gear for 'sadness', there's no part to change for 'hurt', and people, people were so far beyond her skill . . . ]
1/2
She knows that tone, she recognizes it, and hearing it again—hearing it here, with this quiet boy and his fragile curiosity twists a double-edged knife back into a place in her heart she'd almost thought had healed. It's only by the grace of long practice that her fingers don't fumble, don't drop the last of the parts across the floor.
She doesn't . . .
She doesn't know how to fix this.
She can fix machines. She can build and repair. But there's no screw or gear for 'sadness', there's no part to change for 'hurt', and people, people were so far beyond her skill . . . ]