Unlike lightning, her eyes flutter and crack open once it has roared through her body. . It might have been rash. Soaked to the skin with sweat, bodies exhausted after training, still forced to endure another hour of simulations, Keith felt his patience slip over the edge with rapidity, not too eager to return soon. Evil has no place for caring love. I must say, you, girl, you have the makings of a minion, or even a mediocre villain. Many people find shadows kind of scary, and they are a metaphor for the things that would bother you if you saw them regularly, or focused on them.
Her heart feels…something about that. Her lips should have curled up. Keith had power, though he lacked discipline. She strides another two steps before Maleficent cackles. Her fists are up, almost uselessly—one clutching the wand, the other unable to reach the distance and punch back. All around their hands, black strands seep from the staff.
She tries to slow it as her mother walks toward her. In her hands, the wand is quiet almost welcoming. To me, the trick of being an optimist is drum roll, please to not focus on the negative. Instead, she feels only a mild buzzing in her hands, nothing to indicate what Jane had clearly felt as she tried to use it. Not so deeply, a small voice says: Ben.
She was in Vegas, seeing the sights before she was done. Waiting to tip, to fall off into some grand adventure—to be free with her friends, to be known as a person. Takes no official novelization into account for plot, only pulling on some minor character names and traits. Her thoughts return as she hears her own broken sobs. It looked and tasted like one when Keith turned it around over and over again in his head.
The shadow of the mountain could also highlight it's stature in time compared to our own shadow which casts a relatively small stature in time. Or so Lance had once told him. Walking in the shadows is a metaphor that is easily understood. Dramatic pose, cold gaze—and Mal knows. That means— The wand cannot be— No. They don't have much time to uncover their strengths and make their choices, but.
The toe of that shoe is digging into her ribs again. Undoing her hair was just the expected response not hurt feelings, not allowed to be. Two form close to Mal, and their jagged armor scratches her arms as they unceremoniously haul her up. To the mother, this is a minor conflict and bump on the path to her revenge. Face the light and the darkness falls behind you. His mouth was dry like millions of particles of sand coated it as a second layer.
A thousand paper-cuts coated in lemon juice. The mountain is awesome, you are not. Implying it is dangerous enough. Her other fist, clenched around the wand, swings up in response to a fist full of green flame. The sparks, a hoarse grating sound, continue. Their eyes meet in a brief second, full of frantic movement.
This boy-man who gave her a naĂŻve kind of trust, something she thinks learned is weakness. The dryness of his mouth was being slowly enveloped by water. Turning her head on her aching neck is too difficult, but she tries to hold her head up a last show of defiance. That rouses enough energy in Mal for her to push against the floor with weakened arms. And Mal swallows back a wish, a hope, and ruthlessly reminds herself that time is out.
Bouts of curiosity and contrary emotional responses were quickly and ruthlessly squashed until her younger self learned to hold it in. No one would weep for her. Everyone around them glows in happiness and the plain-face girl who has been withering for ages stares hungrily at the magical instrument. She feels frustrated by that. Her arms already ache as the shadow-minions start marching.