The theme that he'd come here to help her was finally choking the pennant of sin's deficient mercy campaign, plunging in a guided, marveling seppukku in between the jigsaw bones of her spinal cord and awestruck blades. Something had to be battering however dead it was inside the coop of her ribcage, to keep the ghost from losing its soul entirely for a plot in Yomi. Was she... was she feeling bad? Oh no, this can't happen, that skeletal pile has enough to feel terrible about. A legion of dishonor.
The ceramic, eroding geisha had laddered the counter, sat on it like a child does waiting for cookies, while the papership on a sea of tears looked over the abused victim of her folly and her wrath, confusion. The beacon of glory, the sake, was being groomed and undressed when he glanced over. What? she'd asked with only a cant of her chin.
What was he trying to say? That looked like a question mark in the node of his brow, was he asking about what happened to it? Woozily, she scooted around to adjust her comfort level on the hard, unforgivably desolate counter and balled up her fist. Punch punch, went the hand into the direction of all the rubble.