[ "Our room". Old habits die hard— this conversation is living proof of that. Lucina keeps her expression carefully neutral, the poker face she's managed to learn coming in handy for moments like these. Her shoulders may tense just slightly, and she may stand a little straighter than she had before — but these are tiny changes, barely noticeable to the bare eye. She can do this.
( But it hurts, to know that some version of her father is out there, waiting to fall in love with her mother. Resentment is an ugly thing, one that will continue to claw at her for a long, long time, regardless of what she knows is logical. Despite the guilt bubbling inside of her, it's still difficult to understand. )
Between these thoughts, she misses her cue to speak. Hopefully no one notices anything different, and if curious glances are thrown her way she answers them with a small near-smile, a soft expression she can at least pull off for her mother, if nothing else. ]
no subject
( But it hurts, to know that some version of her father is out there, waiting to fall in love with her mother. Resentment is an ugly thing, one that will continue to claw at her for a long, long time, regardless of what she knows is logical. Despite the guilt bubbling inside of her, it's still difficult to understand. )
Between these thoughts, she misses her cue to speak. Hopefully no one notices anything different, and if curious glances are thrown her way she answers them with a small near-smile, a soft expression she can at least pull off for her mother, if nothing else. ]