He kissed her gently, then drew back a little, looking confused.

“You…you taste like…” He thought about it for a second, trying to find the right word, then, with eyebrows drawn together in a dark, puzzled line, said, “…pain.”

She smiled at him, almost sadly. “Yeah. I know,” she replied softly.

He looked no less confused. “But…why?”

She reached out gently and undid her ribbon that she had tied around his wrist, letting his lady’s colors flutter to the ground. “You don’t have to stay, you know,” she told him, still smiling.

“…What – what are you talking about?”

She brought a hand up to her face, fingers splayed over both cheeks, then slid off the mask.

Beneath was the disfigured face, pockmarked with scars that never faded, lips bitten, cracked and bleeding, the running eyes, forever running.

He stepped back further, now, the familiar horror sparking in his eyes. “You…” His voice faded to nothing.

“You don’t have to stay,” she repeated through those cracked lips. Somehow, the once-melodious voice seemed distorted, coming through lips like those. “You can leave, if you want. Everyone has.” She wanted him to be different, but she knew he wouldn’t be; even so, hope was inevitable, if futile. “There’s more.”

Slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt, to reveal her disfigured limbs, and the twisted lines, thick scars, some white, skin tight around the edges, others new cuts, oozing blood. Bruises swirled almost artfully across her torso in greens and yellows, and blacks and purples. “This is who I am,” she said simply, and buttoned up her shirt again with calm fingers, nails suddenly chipped and broken.

He looked like he might throw up, face torn between pity and revulsion. The revulsion finally won over, and he started to back up again, faster, shaking his head. “I – I’m sorry,” he bit out, then finally turned tail and ran.

She stared after him, smiling as a single drop of crimson rolled down her cheek and caressed her tattered lips, then knelt, reverently, to pick up the ribbon from where it lay in the dirt, missing yet another inch from the frayed edges.

“Goodbye,” she whispered, and sat back to wait, wait for the next Him.