Jeanne-Marie waited for the comforting feeling staring at the familiar face of her brother usually brought, but something felt off. He looked differently to her, and she could feel the coldness coming from him. "Je suis heureux que vous n'êtes pas blessé." Her eyes roamed over the splinters of glass, and she waited for him to invite her in. He moved away from her, and Jeanne-Marie remained at the door, crossing her arms over her chest.
The posture was defensive as Jeanne-Marie tried to figure out why he was being so cold to her. Their conversation had started with their normal openness. He'd said he was unhurt, but not alright. Biting her lip, her brows knitting, Jeanne-Marie inspected Jean-Paul. He was trying to keep her out, she could tell that much. They'd had their issues in the past, but now... Now was a time when they should be coming together more than ever. Jeanne-Marie was trying so hard to keep it together, to bring her broken mind back into one piece and keep it that way. He was dealing with something, something he wouldn't tell her about. They were locked into this mansion, the entire world going insane around them, and they only had each other to lean on.
Why, then, was he pulling away from her?
Sighing, Jeanne-Marie moved into his room, keeping her distance. It seemed to be what he wanted, so she wasn't going to push. "Dites-moi ce qui est mal." She sat lightly on the edge of his desk, her arms still tightly crossed over her chest.
Je suis heureux que vous n'êtes pas blessé (I am glad you are uninjured)