Beauty was certain she was going to be sick. Her stomach had turned inside out, and she was actually shivering, but not at all cold, not here. There was the very real fear that if she opened her mouth now, she'd end up shrieking, shrieking like a mindless banshee. She wanted to run around the store, the city, the streets, the park, she wanted to run everywhere shouting and throwing up her hands and --
"Ohh," she managed, barely. Her voice sounded as strangled as her throat felt. He was looking down, then, as if what he'd said was wrong. She shook her head, then shook it again. Wasn't right.
"I'd like to be yours," she said plainly, plaintively, and if she was wrong about what he meant now, she'd surely know it in a moment.