Every fiber in Angelina's body was on fire, she was sure. The distant look on Lucifer's face, the way he'd so simply admitted to being lost in thought, had been enough to spark an anger she couldn't even trace. Had she been able to, had she been thinking clear enough, the source would have been obvious. The years and years of never knowing what was going on in his head, the way he so simply seemed to get away from it all while she was stuck feeling it.
She knew it wasn't true, he felt it just as much as she did, but she didn't feel it. At that hellish point in time, Angelina threw herself to her feet and sent her chair off of its legs behind her with no feelings aside from pure and utter fury. Fury at how unfair everything about life was.
"GOD DAMN IT LUCIFER!" The window rattling cry of frustration ricocheted off of every wall in the secret room and if Angelina had been able to muster the power, she would have sent every item in the room flying at once. The portraits, the books, the torches, anything that wasn't attached to the walls.
She knew he would know what she was thinking, and it only made her more angry, and only made her want him to hear it. So she didn't only think it. She screamed it. With everything that she had in her, she screamed. Every bit of anger at the world, her life, the Death Eaters that killed her parents, whatever got Wanda sick, and herself came pouring out into the few words she managed to make clear through the drowning sound of grating vocal cords.
It was a question she had never asked before and would never verbally ask again. It hadn't even occurred to her before. In the past she had only known that the world wasn't fair. She had never actually wondered why it was all happening to them. The question came pouring out of the most locked away part of her emotions and let itself linger in the air.
Angelina was sure she had never made such a loud sound in her life. She was pretty sure she had never thrown anything as hard either, for the ink well she had propelled at the wall didn't even look like it existed anymore.
A lot of words had come out before and after those two, but none of them distinguishable. Her thoughts weren't mutilated by the sound of screaming, though, and they were as clear as day.
Why does all of this happen to us? Why do we have to be the ones that feel like this. WHY US? What did we ever do? We were just kids when it all started! WHAT THE FUCK DID WE DO?
Angelina wasn't looking at him anymore. She wasn't looking at anything. She was staring at the wall, but she didn't see it either. All she saw was blinding emotion. It filled her completely. It filled her senses and her mind, her emotions and her body.
But it hadn't lasted.
Just as quickly as it had come, Angelina's anger had faded. Nothing had changed in the few seconds she'd been so astoundingly upset, but it didn't look quite the same. The shattered ink bottle didn't look as satisfying, and she wasn't maliciously happy he knew how angry she was. She felt horrible, like she always did right after she exploded, but this time more than ever.
The gentleness of the single word she spoke was such a drastic contrast to the scream that still seemed to echo off the walls that it was equally as powerful. The soft-spoken nickname she muttered carried not only every apology she'd ever forgotten, but all of those she would in the future.
Angelina had turned on her heel to face him with wide eyes and simply muttered, "Luci."