Beauty wasn't easily offended, but it was strange indeed to have a stranger put his hands on her the way this one had. "I beg your --" she began, as his hand closed around her arm. But then he was pulling at her, and the discomfort blossomed into panic. It seemed that time slowed, and in it, she thought three things:
This isn't right - get away now! Fight him, fight and don't stop fighting! Errol.
The last thought made her scream, and the scream started the rest. She kicked, she squirmed, she tried to pull herself away. Mild-mannered Beauty turned into a hellcat, as she was dragged outside her bookstore. She couldn't tell if there were people on the street as she clawed at the hand that seized her and dragged her forward. Part of her wanted help; the other hoped that people stayed away, stayed safe. There were no words in her screams; she couldn't think to form them.
The tall man who had her was saying something, but she didn't register it, didn't know what it was he was trying to tell her. She didn't care. She just wanted to be free.