Korra flinched, missing a stroke with her comb. "I'm fine," she said, her voice a bit too quick, a bit too bright.
I hesitated, gripping the skirt of my night dress with both hands. One brush stroke, two, then three. "Korra, are you, um, sure?"
"Oh, wait, are you talking about last night?" She forced a chuckle, but her next tug on my hair felt even more forceful. "Why wouldn't I be fine? It was just a little…startling."
Even someone as dense and selfish as me could see that she wasn't all right. But what was I supposed to say when she was so clearly denying it? What if she snapped at me or, worse, pushed me away? I was supposed to go to Korra for comfort and advice, not the other way around!
