This peculiar young lady talked as if her storybook were a tome of historical fact instead of light-hearted reading. Perhaps, she thought to herself, she could not trust the things that Red said to her. Perhaps that was part of what seemed wrong about her.
Beauty hated to allow herself to think the worst of people. It was presumptive and so often incorrect and always, always unkind. But when others -- friends, even -- agreed with her intuition of people, Beauty was less inclined to correct herself.
When Red stepped closer, however, Honour had to struggle not to step back. She didn't like how Red stared at her, as if she could read her, as if she could gain some sort of knowledge about her that Beauty hadn't already given. It reminded her too much of the thing Eric had done to her, and she didn't want that. She didn't want that at all.
Despite herself, however, she unwillingly felt a twist of sympathy for the girl in front of her. Why? Why? It was the laugh. That soft, full-of-pain laugh. Did Red know how she sounded when she laughed like that?
Surprising even herself, Beauty stepped closer to Red as well, narrowing the gap between her and the girl considerably. "What happened to you?" she asked as softly as that broken laugh had come. "What did this to you?"