Still foaming from the mouth, Azula glared up
Disclamer: I own nothing
Still foaming from the mouth, Azula glared up.
Her sweat glistened, and it took her a few seconds to it spurt out.
"I'm an introvert." The therapist looked up, his eyebrows wiggling like caterpillars.
"You're an introvert?" He hesitantly asked.
"Yes." Azula calmly responded. "I like keeping to myself." Again, the therapist's eyebrows tightened, and he, while looking at the pale carpet, responded with a hand on his damp forehead.
"Azula, I truly don't think you're an introvert. You seem more like a… well, just not an introvert." He glanced at Azula, now moist under his armpits. Azula looked back at him.
The therapist's funeral took place on a Monday.
45 I will not ask Azula "how's the psychotherapy coming along?"