"The Girl with Too Many Words"
From the perspective of Seraphian
She invited me for tea.
It was sudden and awkward—one of those moments where humans feel the need to offer kindness even when it is unnecessary. I had already gathered the information I needed. A polite decline should've followed.
But I hesitated.
"Come in… if you'd like," she said, brushing a strand of blacl hair behind her ear. "We don't get many guests."
I didn't move.
Her amber eyes flickered. "You must have heard the rumors."
Rumors?
Ah… those.
I kept my expression unreadable. "I'm a man of science," I replied after a pause. "I have little interest in fairy tales."
Her eyes sparkled.
That glimmer—almost childlike wonder—caught me off guard. She looked at me as if I had said something extraordinary. As if I were extraordinary.
Why?
Before I could question it, she tilted her head slightly, and her voice softened. "Why do you look at me like that?" I asked.
She blinked, startled. "Oh—I'm sorry. I just… I haven't felt that in a long time."
"…Felt what?"
She didn't answer. She only smiled faintly and stepped aside. "Please, come in. My sister makes wonderful cakes."
I entered.
The cottage was small. The wooden floors creaked beneath my boots, and the walls were patched with faded paper and dried herbs. It was… clean. Impossibly clean.
Most humans use poverty as an excuse to live like beasts. But this place—this forgotten corner of the world—smelled of wildflowers. The air itself felt gentle, as if the house breathed peace into the lungs of all who entered.
Strange.
Stranger still was how they allowed a total stranger inside without hesitation. No fear. No questions.
Are humans truly this foolish?
We sat in the sitting room—a modest space with a low table and no chairs. Cushions lined the floor, and sunlight filtered through the lace curtains, dancing on porcelain cups filled with tea.
I hesitated.
Human food…
Yet I had no choice but to maintain the disguise.
So I sipped.
And then… I sipped again.
It's good.
The tea was fragrant, laced with mint and something floral. The cakes were soft and warm—as if handmade with… no. Not love. That would be ridiculous.
Love? What are you thinking, Seraphian? That's absurd.
The girl—Rosella—spoke constantly. Her voice was light and quick, like a stream running over pebbles.
"Do you prefer one spoon of sugar or two?" she asked brightly. "I like it sweet—probably too sweet, my sister says, but I think bitter tea is just so depressing…"
She paused, then giggled. "Sorry. I talk too much, don't I?"
I said nothing.
Because yes—she did.
⸻
The next day.
I saw her again in the market.
She was standing between a baker and a scrawny street boy—defending the child who had just stolen a loaf of bread.
"Let him go," she said firmly. "He's just hungry."
The baker waved her off with a broom. "You again? Don't play the saint, cursed girl. No one needs your pity."
For a moment—I saw it.
That thing inside her.
In her eyes—darkness, ancient and silent, like something sleeping in the bones of the earth.
It looked back at the world with… rage.
Then, just like that—it vanished.
The boy she protected? He threw a rock at her before running away.
It struck her shoulder.
She flinched.
She didn't fight back.
But I knew—she wanted to. I could feel it.
Yet the moment passed. Again.
Later that night, I followed her.
She walked alone, her figure small beneath the weight of twilight. She stopped at a crooked house near the woods—the boy's home.
She placed a cloth bundle at the doorstep.
Bread. Fruit. A jar of jam.
She knocked once, then disappeared before anyone opened the door.
I stood there, hidden in the trees, stunned.
I had expected vengeance. Some unholy wrath.
Instead… she gave him dinner.
Who is this girl?
The cursed witch, they call her.
But I wonder…
Is there such a thing as a human this… gentle?