The next second, the boy lashes out with his hand.
In a flash, the bowl of hot soup was overturned onto the ground. The porcelain spoon from the bowl also crashed onto the floor.
The shattering sound was crisp. Fragments of porcelain were scattered all over the place.
The boy was strong, and didn't hold back his strength at all.
In the air saturated with the smell of disinfectant, a faint whimper from the girl was heard, faint as if a kitten was calling out. Her thick, black hair unraveled, spilling out like ink in a landscape painting.
Some grazed the boy's wrist, provoking an uncomfortable itch and a subtle sting, as if he'd inadvertently cut his fingertip on a piece of paper.
At first, it's a numbing itch. Afterwards, it's a subtle pain.
Hannah was shoved to the ground, the scattered soup and shards seemed to accurately depict her present state.
Humiliated and subservient.
