Cornered and her slowly building rage splintering at his impossible hypocrisy, Mabelle wrenched her arms away from Michel's grasp with a surprising jolt of strength, slamming the side of her body shoulder-first into the much heavier man in attempt to get him not so close. "I'm not hungry," she hissed, a partial lie but her appetite was far gone.
Breathing harshly and eyes narrowed into angry slits as she stared at him with clearly visible murderous urges, Mabelle opened her mouth as if to shriek before snapping it back shut with a clash of teeth.
She was upset, there was no mistaking the way her frame trembled with suppressed urges of violence, fingernails cutting into her palms as her hands clenched into tight fists. "Is this why you forced me to live?" she growled accusingly, "It wasn't good enough for me to just curl up and waste away in the filthy streets, was it?" Roughly wiping at her eyes, Mabelle pressed further into the corner. She should have ran away a long time ago, but the thought of leaving him always seemed worse than leaving.
And suddenly she was crying, silently at first before a pitiful and embarrassing whimper escaped, her features slowly shifting from anger to confusion as she touched her cheeks to confirm it. Wiping quickly at her eyes again with her sleeve, maybe she acted fast enough that Michel wouldn't have noticed, but the tears weren't stopping and Mabelle stood there, frozen and uncertain how to react.