June exhaled slowly, fingers unconsciously brushing the fabric of her skirt as though she could still feel that scar beneath. Her voice was quiet, heavy, but laced with a strange softness.
"Normally…" She began, eyes distant. "When people see my leg, there are only two reactions."
"Either they look away, quick, sharp, like it's too ugly to even look at...or worse, they stare with pity. That look, that sympathy in their eyes, like I was something fragile, broken, someone to be pitied and handled with care."
"...That's been my whole life, Olivia. Always those two reactions."
She gave a faint, bitter laugh, though it dissolved quickly. Then, with a sudden warmth breaking through, she added,
"But Kafka...he was different."
Her gaze lifted, finding Olivia's eyes with quiet weight.
"He didn't look away. He didn't give me that hollow sympathy. Instead…"
She paused, and a soft, almost disbelieving smile curved her lips.
"...He cried."
Olivia blinked, her mouth parting in shock.
