The souls of this world are alien to her.
She doesn’t understand their torment and their obsessions and she certainly does not understand the way they fight over power. It all seemed so trivial to her. But she likes them all the same. She likes the way their eyes light up when they talk about something that they are passionate about, and she likes the ways that they seem to enjoy their own destruction. It was fascinating to watch from afar, and she had spent her fair share of time watching all of them as she moved around the meadow. She had heard lover’s spats, and she had seen children playing, and she had heard whispers of political movements. It was all fascinating, even though she could not feel empathy.
She frowns at his answer, tilting her head at him as if trying to decipher it. “Hot mess?” she parrots back at him, thinking that if she said the words, she would understand them. She does not. She does not like the sensation of being in the dark or feeling stupid, and her lips curl back over her sharp teeth. “What does that mean?” the words are short, staccato, harsh in her mouth. “I do not like hot mess.” Of course, she does not like it because she does not know what it means. She would never like that.
He fires the question back at her, and she frowns at him, still not sure how she felt about him. She was hovering on the edge of it, and she took a step back, feeling her skin crawling with indecision. “I am Ana-sta-sia.” Naturally, her name was too complicated for her to say, and she stumbled over it the same way that she stumbled over all long words. It was an intricate name—a delicate one. Something that spoke of soft eyes and gentle smiles and was nothing like the brutish creature before him.
like the moon, we borrow our light
{I am nothing but a shadow in the night}