[ She flattens her palm over the back of his. His fingers far softer and longer than her own. Delicate hands. So unlike her own as she presses her hand to his and it to her skin. To the dull thud below, to that marred and fragile, ugly and all too human skin. ]

I do. But I do not, nor have ever, cared what happened to me. I just see the people I've failed. Because it is to them that I belong, to who I always shall.