Well, that was unexpected. If that was what happened by her softening her rather abrasive personality, then she wouldn't be doing that anymore. She recoiled from his words, as though they were an unexpected slap, and stared at him, nostrils flared and eyes wide, head thrown high, almost similar to a position of fear. She didn't know how to react to such an outspoken vow of devotion. Sure, she was glad to know that his fealty was with her, glad that he was not rethinking his position by her side within the Plague. And, after all, she had molded him this way - she had flirted, and cajoled, and played off of his attraction to her to bring him under her rule. So wasn't this what she had wanted?

Perhaps, but the statement of adoration shocked her, sending her already scattered thoughts into overdrive. How was she to react? Should she admit that his feelings for her were - what? - stronger, more defined, more real? Should she admit that she was incapable of returning his affection in the same unrestricted manner in which he showed his? Should she simply shove him away, force him out of this weird parody of love, and risk losing him and his hatred for the inferiors, losing his passion for their cause? So many questions that she hadn't the answer to. Did she even owe him the truth? Perhaps she could simply carry on the facade, keep him on her side, allow him to believe that there was more to her and them than meets the eye.

And he had called her beautiful.

All this transpired in no more than a few seconds, long enough for her to truly absorb his words. She took a deep breath and forced herself into a more relaxed posture, forcing her misgivings to a deep, hidden part of her mind. Forcing her mouth to form words. "I do," she finally said simply, words soft. So this was how she would play it, then, keep their relationship as it was, continue it on its path, even if she did not love him and would never love him in the way that he wished. She liked him, that was true, but it wouldn't be enough, were she to admit that. But she couldn't bring herself to return his words; she couldn't lie her way through saying 'I love you.' Would he expect her to? Would he catch her bluff?

No. The thought was firm. She was an excellent liar, with years of practice. Even so, never before had she felt such guilt after a lie. She offered a hesitant smile - let him think that it was nervousness. A step forward, one after the other, each more confident than the last. Yes, she could do this, she could return his affection, if only in action and not in thought. Still the feeling that he would prove an asset lingered in her mind, and she would keep him close if only for that reason. Closer now, and muzzle reached to touch his, the gentle caress of soft skin on soft skin a new sensation. She would never tell him the truth, she knew that, but nor would she succumb again to the overwhelming urge to run far away.

[W/C | 548]