She doesn't understand.
Can'tunderstand.
If she knew the full truth...
I can't spell it out the way I need to with shaking hands, but I have to make her understand.
N-O... F-A-C-E,I sign, struggling to control the tremor in my fingers as shame burns through me.S-H-A-R-P... T-E-E-T-H... A-L-W-A-Y-S... S-H-O-W-I-N-G.
I watch her expression carefully as it sinks in. Her pupils dilate slightly. A hint of fear spikes in her scent—so brief I might have imagined it—but her face remains soft. Compassionate. She shows no disgust, no recoiling.
She's being kind.
That has to be it.
Does she think she owes me for protecting her?
For bringing her medicine and food?
For giving her a safe place to stay?
But she doesn't owe me anything.
Anything at all.
"I wasn't seeing things, then?"
Not a question.
I shake my head, unable to meet her searching gaze.
I… A-M... N-O-T… H-U-M-A-N.
The words tear at something deep inside me as I sign them.
Wish I could lie to her.
"Don't say that," she says quietly, her voice pained. "Don't even think it."
But these aren't words of self-pity.
Not seeking reassurance.
They're simply fact.
As undeniable as gravity.
As irrefutable as blood.
Can't explain this to her.
She would lie to comfort me.
Because that's who she is.
Kind. Compassionate. Pure.
Too good for the darkness I carry.
