Her lack of social graces also mean that she does not comprehend conversations well. She does not pick up on the subtle cues of someone who would rather be alone or someone who is wrestling with internal conflicts. After all, she does not comprehend the concept. Life was so simple—so black and white. Things were either a yes or no; she either liked something or she did not. You were dead or you were alive. There was no room for areas of gray in her world. She did not understand those shades.
She frowns at his denial, and her lips pull back over her sharp teeth. “Liar,” she hisses in her broken tongue, her voice thick in her mouth. Her yellow eyes wander toward the shadows that scamper up his legs and cling to his coat, and she feels sympathy for them—feels sorry that they have claimed this stallion as a master when he so clearly wants nothing to do with them. For a second, she feels anger.
It is not foreign, but it is rare. The way it flares in her belly.
“Say sor-ry,” she demands, as she portals near him, at his side in a blink of an eye, baring her teeth at him as she nudges the shadows around his neck, her own way of comforting them. “Apol-o-gize.” Her ears pin back against her skull, and she considers ripping into his throat, but she also knows what that would mean for the shadows. They were given life by something inside of him, and ripping that from him would mean that she was destroying them. To Anastasia, they were innocent in this. They did not deserve death for it. “Sha-dows like you,” she hisses. “Why you no like them?”
like the moon, we borrow our light
{I am nothing but a shadow in the night}
no rush, lady! <3