#i think chev could handle her. he doesnt talk often so i feel like?? maybe he wouldnt be terrible about it??

[c-bookwyrm]

Most scars are invisible, laced together with painful memories. patched with care, or neglect of acknowledgment. Constance is used to the guessing of her past by strangers- how she must feel about being orphaned, about being 'unable' to speak, about whatever other words are being put into her mouth. The sensation makes her mouth remain shut, knowing well that her voice would rarely be heard.

She's aware of how this impacts those closer to her. Maggie still smiles brightly as she waits for Constance to jot down her next words when her voice fails her, but Constance can see the faint way her eyes dim at realizing today was only a writing day. How Maggie seems put off, in a vague way that she can only catch in glimpses. This would never be voiced, as she feels as though Maggie has the patience of a saint, but it festers in the back of Constance's mind.

Rio has heard her more than Maggie, but not in the same ways. It was born from necessity when she found him, her self-conscious nature hastily put aside as panic for his wellbeing arose. But as time went on, her voice came and went, regardless of how he praised her when he could hear it, or doted on her scribbled handwriting. Days where he prompted her to talk with exaggerated, but supportive greetings and questions being met only with her silence was... difficult for her to watch. There was a strange pressure from him, that she knew was unintentional. One that made her stutter worse at times, due to how overwhelming it was for every action to be praised.

Regardless of how often they would accommodate her, the sensation of dread still overtook her. How much of a relief would it be for them, if only she could talk with ease? To blend in with the rest of the townspeople, or tell those close to her how much she loved them? To be normal?

To combat this, she would spend time in front of her mirror, practicing her speech, practicing what made her nervous to say, repeating syllables she commonly tripped over. Yet time and time again, it would be proven that talking to her reflection rarely could substitute for those eyes of pity. Of annoyance. Of disgust.

The act of becoming Belle terrified her, in this sense. It was enough that the townspeople would handle her, but princes? Other nobles? Her silence was often taken as affirmation, what would happen here?

It turned out that the looks she feared still would follow her here, but not completely. Some... treated her as an equal. Knew sign language- she wouldn't have to burn through so much paper or suffer those awkward silences as she hurriedly wrote, she nearly cried- and when she stuttered, sometimes the look in there eyes would never change.

Speaking. Was still Terrifying, in some regards. But she found more of her voice, slowly, as the days went by.