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•CINDERELLA•
Monday October 25th, 2010 . . . 7:04 A.M.
"It's been a few days since we last talked, how are you?" Jean—Genevieve's psychologist—questioned. Her silver glasses framed her emerald eyes which were focused expectantly as she awaited a response. Meanwhile her aged hands held a small notebook where she jotted down more than Genevieve would like at times—it seemed she always had something to note.
In response, Genevieve shrugged easily before matching her steady gaze. It was obvious she was still a bit uncomfortable with the scheduled meetings. Almost ninety percent of the time, when it came to sharing such personal information with a 'stranger', she was not willing to budge.
"Fine," she added in response, without much thought, a tight smile trailing close behind her words.
It was the truth. She was fine. She felt well, and recent events managed to perk her mood. However, as of right now the definition seemed a bit lax. It teetered on the verge of 'I'd rather be anywhere else but here' type of fine instead of feeling content, but she wasn't about to share that realization out loud.
After she spoke, a short silence sank in causing her lips to twitch down and tense in displeasure. Aggravation crept in when her gaze narrowed down towards Jeans lap where the little notebook rested.
