[She's kept her eyes on the table, on her hands, on the ground since they entered, but it's the scent of lavender that brings her eyes back up to the middle of the table. She stares at the arrangement, picking apart the meanings that he's chosen. Statice - lasting beauty. One of the brother's favorite flowers, she recalls. Pink roses - admiration and sympathy. Zinnia - in memory of an absent friend. A sprig of lily of the valley - sweetness, humility. She hadn't lied entirely before; her mind is a mess at the moment. But these are all things that she can read as plain as words on paper. She hasn't noticed the hyacinth sitting in a separate vase at the other end of the table just yet, too busy focusing on each of the flowers he's chosen for this particular arrangement.
She doesn't know if she should scream or cry or smash this vase to a million pieces. He would know that she'd be able to see the true meaning behind the decoration, but had he expected her to come back? Was this meant to be left in memorial or for her to see?
She stands up, the chair scraping across the floor in her haste, and both hands brace herself on the table as she glares across the room at him.]
What is this?! Why - why did you put these here?! [She looks from the vase back to him.]
action;
She doesn't know if she should scream or cry or smash this vase to a million pieces. He would know that she'd be able to see the true meaning behind the decoration, but had he expected her to come back? Was this meant to be left in memorial or for her to see?
She stands up, the chair scraping across the floor in her haste, and both hands brace herself on the table as she glares across the room at him.]
What is this?! Why - why did you put these here?! [She looks from the vase back to him.]