She sickens me. Literally.

I'll look at her and my gut will just start twisting, like someone wringing out a dishcloth. L-sama's little way of reminding me that certain things in this world are no go.

It's not that I find her attractive. I mean, I do, but then I'd have to be blind and stupid not to. Those eyes, that hair--the Mother of All Things must have spent more effort on her, balancing that sweet little swing in her walk and the arch of her eyebrows. But, hell, I doubt there's a man in this group who hasn't thought about her that way (except dear old Jellyfish-Brains).

No, it's something different--there's something about her whole demeanour that's fascinating. Elusive. I can't anticipate her, can't quite defend myself.

She keeps catching me off-guard. I hate that. I am never off-guard. Or rather, never was.

And yet... you know, sometimes I don't mind it so much. For instance, when those big blue eyes flash with anger--oh, I know she wants to rip my right arm off and beat me senseless with it, but sometimes I catch the razor edge of a smile in her look. Or sometimes she'll soften just a little before she tosses out the insults, hesitate for a split second before smacking me.

Of course, she always has to hit me with the damn mace. And I really do have to wonder if a moment's hope is worth the bruises.

Hope. What a strange word to use in connection with her.





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