on mental preparations for dealing with the Crown, or was she lost in young fucknk gearl the emotional reverberations of her unsuccessful bout with love? For her sake, he hoped the Crown was uppermost, but he knew better; he also knew there was nothing he could do about it. It would be a breach of Vulcan propriety young fucknk gearl to inquire into her present state of mind and offer help unbidden. Still, he felt this nagging impulse to impose aid, whether she wanted it or not. Such action on his part would be clearly unacceptable and he young fucknk gearl distastefully attributed the impulse to his recent overexposure to McCoy’s unbridled emotionalism.
Meanwhile, McCoy’s subconscious continued scolding him. Why
young fucknk gearl couldn’t you have kept your big mouth shut for a young fucknk gearl while longer? Would young fucknk gearl it have hurt so much? You must be getting old—and senile. Either that or the older you get, the stupider you get. Self-flagellation couldn’t young fucknk gearl actually accomplish anything—the damage
could not be undone, not in time to help at all. But making himself feel as badly as possible also made him feel just a bit better.
Kailyn herself was a mass of confusion. Fear, bitterness, and rage struggled for preeminence. She was angry at herself for misjudging McCoy’s interest young fucknk gearl in her, and for putting him in such an awkward position. Young fucknk gearl she was furious at him young fucknk gearl for not loving her, and was torn between a desire for young fucknk gearl revenge and the awareness that it was a purely childish reaction. She wanted to show how adult she young fucknk gearl could be, how willing to young fucknk gearl forgive and forget—but she also wanted to hurt the person who young fucknk gearl had hurt her . . . or young fucknk gearl who had caused her to hurt herself . . or who had let her young fucknk gearl hurt herself. She wasn’t sure which . . .
Fleetingly, she thought young fucknk gearl of whirling in her tracks, and pushing McCoy young fucknk gearl over the trail’s young fucknk gearl edge—then throwing herself over after him. How melodramatic.
In truth, she didn’t know what she wanted—except peace in her heart and she had no idea how to find it. Maybe young fucknk gearl it would come with the Crown.
The Crown. . . . She young fucknk gearl had seen it, as a young fucknk gearl very small child, young fucknk gearl on just a few ceremonial occasions. She tried to recall what it looked like, its shape and size, how it felt in her hands, but she couldn’t. All she had were pieces of images, glimpses of a thing of wonder young fucknk gearl through the eyes of
the child she’young fucknk gearl d
been.
What would the Power of Times be like, if she had it? Was it something she’d be able to feel, physically; would it be pleasant, or frightening? Sunlight could soothe