[With each word Hayame flings at him, Liem’s expression only becomes more shuttered, more stubbornly closed off. He is not ready to accept the blame for this — not when revulsion still shines so nakedly in her one remaining eye, even with Amos’s body left behind them and Liem’s face washed clean of blood. It’s him; it’s always been him, no matter how civilized he acted for the benefit of those around him who thought of his habits with disgust and fear. There had been some who were able to ignore it, but for most others — it didn’t matter what he did or said, or how properly he conducted himself. They were unable to look past the stain that they knew was there.]

Yes, how dare I. How dare I deceive you by keeping from you what was never any of your business.

[Because yes — he had not hidden his eyes or his ears or his pallor from her; he had told her that he wasn’t human, from a land where most other people were. But she had never asked him what he was, and he had never volunteered it. So it was deception, in a way, to let her know him without ever confessing the truth, and to let her think that he was just a strange-looking man, just as many of the people in Kenos and in Horos before looked strange.

But was she owed that truth? Was she owed the knowledge of what he did in the privacy of his own home, or someone else’s? Did he need to confess to her a litany of every sin he’d ever committed, so she might judge them all for herself before deciding whether she could continue to know him? Should he wear a brand on his forehead, to display his degeneracy to everyone who might cross paths with him even for a moment?

It had been bad enough that everyone who saw his face back in Taldor had known something was wrong with him. He had not wanted to volunteer for the same judgment here, too.]

How inconsiderate of me, to not reveal my inhumanity to you sooner, that you might have looked at me back then as you are now.