“I do not understand how it is obvious,” I say, sliding the bakery box toward her.
“Because I’m…not thin.” The deep pink that had receded once again blooms on her skin. Beginning on the highest curve of her cheeks, it spreads down her neck and across the swell of her rapidly rising and falling breasts, visible in the low, scooping neckline of her top. The light garment makes it easy to see the fullness of her body.
If she welcomed it, I would worship every lush curve. But she is human and I am demon. She emanates goodness, and I spent immeasurable time serving malevolence. No amount of penance would make me worthy.
It is not my place to tell her any of those things.
“You do not need to exercise,” I say instead.
Long dark hair worn loose today, it falls over one side of her face when she tucks her chin downward. “That’s a kind thing to say.”
“I did not say it to be kind.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders jerk, her posture stiffening.
My understanding of human body language is not extensive, but adequate to interpret hers as a negative response. “I spoke honestly, not to soothe any discontent you feel about your form.” My words elicit no change in her position, indicating failure to correct my unintentional offense. “Your form requires no alteration to be pleasing.”
At that, she looks up at me from beneath dark, fluttering lashes. Tucking the curtain of shimmering hair behind her ear reveals more of her lovely rosy skin. “Thank you.”
“If my manner of speaking or selection of words caused you distress, it was an unfortunate side effect of my inexperience with social communication.”
“No, you didn’t say anything wrong. It’s me.” Averting her gaze, she focuses on the box, steadying it with one hand and tracing the logo with one slender finger from the other. “I’ve been told I’m too sensitive.”
I resist the urge to reach out and tip her chin up. This response, this longing, should not be possible, yet it burns inside me. Because of her. For her. Is this the experience of mortals? Need that threatens to overwhelm? Desire to protect and provide? It is chaos. Yet I do not want it to end.
Terminating her sadness will require more than staring. More than silence. “I would like to give you assurance that your level of sensitivity is within normal range. However, being a hell demon, I am unqualified to assess the quantity of sensitivity you possess.”
A small smile curves her lips as she raises her head enough to meet my eyes again. “Sensitivity isn’t something that can be measured. It’s a judgement thing. A matter of opinion.”
“I do not understand the choice to assign value to such untrustworthy, illogical things, especially when they affect you negatively.” Again, my words cause the light to dim in her eyes and her smile to fall away. “I have upset you. I will limit my conversation to bakery topics and casual pleasantries appropriate for business.”
“Please don’t,” she says, leaning forward in a manner that causes the counter to push her breasts higher. “I was hoping…” A fresh wave of pink blooms on her cheeks. “I’d like to get to know you.”
“There is not much to know. Demons are simple creatures.”
“I highly doubt that.” Even in its briefness, her subsequent laughter floats on the air like a sweet song. “As for your not-quite-a-question, sometimes it’s not achoiceto give value to another person’s opinion, especially if they’re an important figure in your life. Even if what they’re saying is negative. Being told something repeatedly, it can seep into you, rewire your brain. Become your personal lore. Then it’s hard tounbelieve it.”
“This person who told you that you are too sensitive, they are an important figure in your life?”
“He used to be,” she says, more quietly than the previous words. “Or I thought he was. But he’s not anymore. Not important and not in my life.”
Inside my chest, there is a sensation of weight lifting. Of space being created. Unusual, but pleasant. “Yours is the only opinion that should matter.”
“I agree withyouropinion.” Light returns to her eyes, along with a smile to her lips. “But I wish I hadn’t unloaded so much of my hot mess. I should probably stay away until I’ve got myself sorted out enough to converse like a cool cucumber.”
“I prefer you do not stay away. I enjoy hearing all of your words and feelings, regardless of temperature.”
Again, she laughs. A sound which holds no actual magic, yet seems to make the air sparkle. “Okay, then I’ll be back tomorrow for another scone, and if you’re here, more conversation.”
“I will be here.”
“Great,” she says, smiling and reaching into the small bag hanging from one shoulder. “How much do I owe you today?”
“I do not require payment.”
She tilts her head to one side. “And I don’t require pity, even though I might’ve made it sound that way.”
“Hell-born demons are incapable of feeling pity. To experience such an emotion would interfere with the duties for which we were created.”
