I-- I-- [She tries to answer, but she's clearly still trying to process what he even said in the first place. Her hands are still vicelike around fistfuls of her own hair, and her breathing is too fast. Her skin crawls and she feels like if she tries to move any more, she'll give in to the temptation to claw herself right out of it.
She eventually finds an answer, though not an exceptionally coherent one.] Our clothes...
no subject
She eventually finds an answer, though not an exceptionally coherent one.] Our clothes...