<33333333333333333333333
[The shackle on her leg bites into her ankle, making her wince, but she's dealt with far worse. It's the arms that circles her waist, however, that she doesn't know how to deal with. The bruised skin of her ankle doesn't make her cry out, but the unexpected warmth of his body certainly does and she finds herself sucking in a sharp gasp of air, her brain becoming a foggy haze for a moment. She doesn't even realize he's let her go or hear his words as he looks down at her in concern. She still feels his arms. She tries to take a step back, but --again-- her retreat is met with an arrest from the ball still sitting on the ground where she left it.
Her frustration mounts at not being able to escape. As her brain suddenly releases itself from the confused haze, the muscles in her arm tighten and, before she realizes what she's doing, her hand whips upward to slap him across the face.
It was instinct, of course. When was the last time she had been touched like that? She couldn't even remember. She wasn't so frail. She didn't need to be treated like a... damsel in distress. But as she stares at the mark she's left, Cornelia feels an apology forming on her tongue, her arm dropping lifelessly back down to her side.]
I... I...
[The guilt is clearly written in her eyes. And yet, she can't really say it. Maybe it's her stubbornness or perhaps she is just too embarrassed by the entire incident to speak. Most women would have said 'thank you', but Cornelia is definitely not most women. If Oliver didn't already know that, he's probably figuring that out right about now.]