It was as she stared at him, with an expression of disappointment on her beautiful face that he understood why she was the way she was. He'd hated the shock, curiosity, rudeness he had received from Oz, curious as to how a Scarecrow had come to life. He hated being strange, he hated it all.
She was soaked to the bone, from the musty trapdoor and the bucket of water several days before. She seemed sickly, her teeth were chattering, she was half starved. She looked like she was going to be ill, and not just because the horrible conditions she had suffered. And the look of disappointment on her face! Oh that was so much worse than anything else he had ever felt- well, except for when he had seen her, captured by the guards in the middle of that corn field. Seeing her, held against her will, surrounded by murderous soldiers had been his worst nightmare.
Yet the thought that she might not love him was almost as bad. "Oh, Yero..." she sighed, her fingertips brushing his canvas face. He couldn't feel the warmth of her hand, but tried to content himself with the sensation of pressure. He winced, wanting to hide away, forever.
But she sensed this. "You're still beautiful," she promises, a sweet smile lighting up her face, making her just as beautiful as she had been when they had been together before.
He rolled his eyes, although he was happy because he was becoming more and more sure that she still loved him. That didn't mean he believed her, though. "You don't have to lie to me-"
"I'm not," she says, squeezing his hand. "It's looking at things another way!"
He had to smile then, really laugh, at his own words flung back at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her soft lips against his rough ones. It was difficult to believe, that she still wanted him, but everything about her was difficult to believe. "I think I've heard that before, love."
"Have you? Well I think it's true, at least in this case." And she rested in his arms, and he could complain about nothing.