It is not, in fact, a feeling that Jenny is acquainted with. Or, if it is, it's become inconsequential under the weight of so much else, meaningless to the point of her not being able to think of any incidences of it. No, her end of the world was, from what she can gather of this, a much more sudden, closer to literal one, everything crashing down around her at once and leaving her with nothing at all, no future, no school, no husband. (At least now, she knows to rank them that way. It's still a lesson that came at too great a price for her to be truly appreciative of it.) She's the very stuff of cautionary tales, the woman that girls are brought up being warned about and advised not to be. In a way, that part is almost amusing, how easily she can fit into a mold when that's the last thing she ever wanted for herself, but that's the sort of laughter that only ever ends with tears, and not the kind born of mirth.
God, what a fool she was.
"Well, I hope so," she says, vaguely apologetic, if only for the fact that it should have to at all. "For your sake." Whatever his burden, he shouldn't need to carry it here. It's practically right there in the name. Her Latin may have always been poor, but Tabula Rasa speaks for itself. The difference between them, though, the reason the same can't apply to her, is that one of those things she lost was physical as well, something she'll have to carry around with her — or not, as the case may be — whether she's on this island or any other, one thing that, when given up, is impossible to get back. She said it herself the night before it happened, the first time only ever happens once; at the time, it was nearly a joke, but now, now, there's a weight to it that there wasn't before. Awful a comparison as it may be, she's now like a piece of merchandise that, after having been used, is returned to the store. No one wants it after that. She is, effectively, hopeless.
It's for that very reason that she doesn't let herself press too far, or think about the way he looks like she's in any position to be objectifying at all. It was fun before, having attention and letting that turn to attraction; now, any thoughts of that she could have would just be deluding herself. She's grown. She's learned. She still can't change the past. Equal parts hopeful and rueful, she tips her head to the side. "At least they aren't here, any of those things making the world end?"
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God, what a fool she was.
"Well, I hope so," she says, vaguely apologetic, if only for the fact that it should have to at all. "For your sake." Whatever his burden, he shouldn't need to carry it here. It's practically right there in the name. Her Latin may have always been poor, but Tabula Rasa speaks for itself. The difference between them, though, the reason the same can't apply to her, is that one of those things she lost was physical as well, something she'll have to carry around with her — or not, as the case may be — whether she's on this island or any other, one thing that, when given up, is impossible to get back. She said it herself the night before it happened, the first time only ever happens once; at the time, it was nearly a joke, but now, now, there's a weight to it that there wasn't before. Awful a comparison as it may be, she's now like a piece of merchandise that, after having been used, is returned to the store. No one wants it after that. She is, effectively, hopeless.
It's for that very reason that she doesn't let herself press too far, or think about the way he looks like she's in any position to be objectifying at all. It was fun before, having attention and letting that turn to attraction; now, any thoughts of that she could have would just be deluding herself. She's grown. She's learned. She still can't change the past. Equal parts hopeful and rueful, she tips her head to the side. "At least they aren't here, any of those things making the world end?"