Zoë pinned Scott against a wall, her breath sweet and coppery. Her pupils constricted, eyes twitching under the mental strain. Pulses of red splintered through her left eye, splitting the sea of emerald green. Her bruised hands shook as she held a knife against his pulse point. Multiple muscles in her face twitched, rippling as rocks dropped into a tussling sea. No amount of hatred could make her do it. Not even when tormenting the others could she strike vital organs.
“GͤAH!” Zoë’s voice drifted between two beings, distorted by the share of one body. “Ẅhaͬ̏t m̓ͧak͆e̦̫s y̴̥ou so̬͞ s̜pe͔ͬcḯàl̏?”
The knife clattered to the floor, slipping out of hands. She punched Scott, throwing him to the side. Her nose wrinkled as she stared down the hall, dissociating. She tilted her head, the world turning into a Dutch tilt with memories blurring into the background.
“She hates you. Wë̶ ḫͦa͓te you, but I can’t do it. Why can’t I do it?”
Scott's side bursts with pain the moment he hits the ground, shades flying right off his nose and clattering somewhere nearby. He's no stranger to being flung around like a rag doll, but it hurts a little more when the one flinging you happens to be a girl you know. Or... once knew. That voice was almost unrecognisable, like a garbled recording – once something familiar, now mangled beyond its innocence. Scott fumbles around for his glasses before shoving them on. It doesn't sound like Zoë's going to try anything right now, but you can never be too careful.
"What are you... What are you talking about?" he asks. "Zoë?"
