She had attempted to ingest some human literature, one day.
The juvenile training center happened to have an entire room’s worth of too thin, too pale, paper- but she had sat there, and read, and read, and read, eyebrows scrunched together wondering how absurd those “books” could get. The ones she had picked up told of blood-sucking monsters that looked nothing like monsters, at least by the human standard of the word. They told of catatonic female juveniles of their species, who spoke artificial words and did artificial things and looked so generic it couldn’t be natural. It hurt to read those texts chock full of the same, repeated concepts and the same expressions and the same character types (but it was also fascinating-was this what humans called “art”- irritating, painful, yet somewhat intriguing at the same time?).
While she had been sifting through pages upon pages of inky text, a human male had approached her- he said she looked familiar to him, and she had replied with a vague”I must look like so many other humans” to drive the pest off. Sarcasm- it was one of the few half-decent things about human culture; an attack, but concealed within words and pointed glares and snide smiles. It wasn’t honest, but humanity was never, ever honest.
The male had shrunk into himself slightly, and had muttered his apologies and left her to her pages.
She had not thought much of his sudden appearance, and so resumed her wallowing in disgust of the human culture, of the human body(of her body).
This proved to be a miscalculation.
The male had bugged her again later in the day, and the so-called earnest twinkle in his eye reminded her of how her sister’s aura looked like- blue, naive and foolish- like the ocean. He’d apologized- something that came from his brain and the measly lump of flesh humans called a heart, and thus she could not trust this.
“You’re Madelyn Brooks, right?” he’d asked dumbly- and she had replied “I suppose you could call me such,” with a condescending lilt to her voice, attempting to communicate her disgust to him.
“I. . . knew someone who looked a lot like you. Sasha Brooks. Are you two sisters?”
Her sister. Of course.
“Something of the sort.”
She’d left quickly- after the male giving her another one of those ‘sorry for your loss’s and his name- Devan Loch.
But her sister wasn’t the only thing she’d lost, three weeks prior. She had lost herself- lost her ability to communicate from the heart, the real heart, not the human heart. She’d lost everything and she couldn’t even bother with her traitor sister at this point.