[You're gardening-- pruning the roses--, and small, barely more than a toddler, looking up at your aunt-- a pinched, angry-looking middle-aged woman. She's stern, a little scary, and she's always talking about your father and mother and looking at you like you're not exactly what she wants around, but you know she loves you because why would she
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They don't understand much of anything at all. But neither do I, so it balances out.
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On their behalf, I'm sorry.
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Anyway, you don't need to apologize for her. It's technically true, you know, even if I didn't do anything at the time to warrant the accusation.
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Among... other things, yes. Fear is-- maybe a bit weak of a word for it?
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[Because why else would she say that? Most people just dismiss it with a 'you'll be fine' or don't ask at all.]
It's-- well, it's hard, being turned away from over what you are.
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I like to think I'm not. But you can't always tell from impressions who is the man and who is the monster, can you?
[Her behavior their first conversation seemed to imply that she might have learned that lesson. At least, Asellus hopes so. It's a dangerous one to leave unlearned.]
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[And this was the worst lesson to have learned. But Anatole might be different. Those things - all bound up in names and claims and loyalties - they don't matter here.]
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