[As the knife clatters, he doesn't ... manage to do anything but stumble back, hip hitting the countertop with a soft thud. His hands grip the counter but- As much as his ears burn and his heart races, he can't muster up a second movement, not with the monstrosity swaying there, long knifelike fingers curling and uncurling in the air.
Its back is to him, but he can't help but feel pinned. The way his view warps, this close to her, he's never quite sure if he's seeing the mass of tumbling blonde curls of the back of her head, or the watchful, maddened stare of her face.
Sometimes, he'd swear, it's both, and it's like the wind getting kicked out of him.]
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Its back is to him, but he can't help but feel pinned. The way his view warps, this close to her, he's never quite sure if he's seeing the mass of tumbling blonde curls of the back of her head, or the watchful, maddened stare of her face.
Sometimes, he'd swear, it's both, and it's like the wind getting kicked out of him.]