[ Hilda side shuffles in time with Sylvain, trying in vain to slip by him. Sure, he's tall but he isn't built like as wide of a wall like Raphael or Balthus. Her cheeks puff up when it's clear he isn't going to make this easy for her.

A protest is halfway out her mouth when he starts rattling off instances that she had tried to convince herself were nothing more than flights of fancy in the moment for all parties involved. That's how she and Claude had always been, so why wouldn't it be the same for Sylvain? But perhaps that parallel is the whole reason that she begins to feel a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach. Immediately her brain tries to deflect, panic rising with annoyance resulting in a brief, mirthless and curiously nervous laugh. ]

I had a little too much to drink at the gala. And really, that had more to do with you and Claude – [ Because she can't bring herself to entertain the fact that she belonged somewhere in that picture. She didn't. Nor can she bring herself to address the night at the inn. Her next side step has her bumping directly into his chest and she lets out an annoyed sound before trying to side step away again. ] but like I was saying, we shouldn't have. I shouldn't have.

[ Briefly she wonders if she can duck between his legs. ]

I blurred lines where I shouldn't have - and can you stop cornering me like I'm some rabbit?