As Johnny gets increasingly upset, Greta leaves off feeding him muffin scraps in favor of just watching him with growing concern. She doesn't interrupt, but she can't help wincing a little when he refers to himself as a mess, and her eyebrows climb practically to her hairline when he speaks of loving him, breaking his heart. Two men, is that--is that a thing? But that's beside the point. The point is that Johnny is in all kinds of pain, and she has to do something. Something better than gawping at him and questioning his choice in pronouns.
"Oh. Oh dear. Hang on." She sets the muffins aside on a fallen branch - they're in paper cups, they'll be fine - then shakes the crumbs off her handkerchief. "Here we are," she murmurs, her tone deliberately brisk, as if he's done nothing more humiliating than accidentally knocking over a glass of water. This is embarrassing enough for him already; he doesn't need her pity. But her hand is gentle when she pokes the handkerchief through the gap in the thorns and wipes his tears away.
"Now, then." Now what? What can she tell him? If she's broken any hearts, she hasn't been allowed to witness the aftermath, or been given the opportunity to atone. What her husband must think of her disappearance - what he must think about the Prince, if he knows, and she so hopes he doesn't - she has no idea, and there is nothing she can do regardless. All she knows is what she would have done, if the Rift hadn't taken her.
Maybe Johnny could do the same.
"Listen," she says firmly, ducking her head a little so she can look him in the eyes. "Sometimes we don't know what we have until we lose it. But that doesn't mean you can't go and get it back." She gives his cheek one last little scrub with the handkerchief, then pulls it back. "What's his name, this... this fellow of yours?"
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"Oh. Oh dear. Hang on." She sets the muffins aside on a fallen branch - they're in paper cups, they'll be fine - then shakes the crumbs off her handkerchief. "Here we are," she murmurs, her tone deliberately brisk, as if he's done nothing more humiliating than accidentally knocking over a glass of water. This is embarrassing enough for him already; he doesn't need her pity. But her hand is gentle when she pokes the handkerchief through the gap in the thorns and wipes his tears away.
"Now, then." Now what? What can she tell him? If she's broken any hearts, she hasn't been allowed to witness the aftermath, or been given the opportunity to atone. What her husband must think of her disappearance - what he must think about the Prince, if he knows, and she so hopes he doesn't - she has no idea, and there is nothing she can do regardless. All she knows is what she would have done, if the Rift hadn't taken her.
Maybe Johnny could do the same.
"Listen," she says firmly, ducking her head a little so she can look him in the eyes. "Sometimes we don't know what we have until we lose it. But that doesn't mean you can't go and get it back." She gives his cheek one last little scrub with the handkerchief, then pulls it back. "What's his name, this... this fellow of yours?"