[ it's incredible how mere words can reach in and grip at her soul so intensely, grasping within her chest and squeezing like breathing suddenly gets harder. because it sparks a memory that she has to swallow down, of a young girl watching her apartment explode into debris as her parents disappear out of sight, her brother wrapping his arms around her tightly, tucked beneath a bed with a beeping missile nudged in the floorboards, capable of going off at any moment.

her fingers squeeze into her hands, nails tight against her palms. ]

I ... know a bit of what that's like.

[ she says little else to that, hand brushing over her lips easing down a brief quiver in them. ]

A soup kitchen sounds like a kind idea. Things like that, it — it can make all the difference. If you needed extra hands with that, I'd be more than willing to help.