over to the window, and then faced him. She could see his eyes looking at her as she stood in front of him in the moonlight. She imagined her skin must look very pale to him, almost ghostly, and her hair almost white in color.
“I’m going to ask you a question,” she said.
“All right,” he said softly, sitting up in his bed.
“When you look at me, what do you see?”
Braeden went quiet and did not answer. The question seemed to scare him. “What do you mean?”
“When you look at me, do you see…do you see…a normal girl?”
“Clara Brahms is different than Anastasia Rostonova, and you are different than both of them,” he said. “We’re all different in our own way.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but am I…” She faltered. She didn’t know how to ask it. “Am I strange looking? Do I act strange? Am I some sort of weird creature or something?”
It stunned her when he did not reply right away, when he did not immediately deny it. He didn’t say anything at all. He hesitated. For a long time. Every second that went by was like a dagger in her heart because she knew it was true. She felt like leaping out his window and running into the trees. His reaction confirmed that she was strange and contorted beyond reckoning!
“Let me ask you a question in return,” he said. “Have you had a lot of friends during the course of your life?”
“No,” she said soberly, thinking that now he was being particularly cruel if this was his way of explaining just how grotesque she was.
“Neither have I,” he said. “The truth is, besides Gidean and my horses, I’ve never had a good friend my own age, someone I really trusted and wanted to be with through thick and thin. I’ve met a lot of girls and a lot of boys, and I’ve spent time with them, but…”
His voice faltered. He could not explain. And she could feel the hurt inside him, and her heart went out to him despite the fact that he’d practically called her a monster to her face just moments before. “Keep going…” she said softly.
“I-I don’t know why, but I haven’t made any friends that are…like…that are…”
“Human,” she said.
He nodded. “Isn’t that strange? I mean, isn’t that very strange? After my family died, I didn’t want to talk to anyone anymore or be with them. I didn’t want to wonder when I was going to see them next. I just didn’t want to. I wanted to be alone. My aunt and uncle have been very kind. They’ve brought all sorts of boys and girls here to see if I was interested in making friends. I sat with them at dinner because my aunt and uncle wanted me to sit with them. I danced with the girls because they wanted me to dance with them. I never said anything mean to any of the girls or the boys, and felt nothing but kindness toward them, and maybe they never even knew what I was feeling. There was nothing wrong with them, but for some reason, I would just rather be with Gidean, or taking a walk watching the birds, or looking for new things in the forest. My uncle brought my cousins here to explore the forests with me, but they started playing a game with a ball, and soon I drifted away from them. I don’t understand it. There’s nothing wrong with any of them. I think there’s something wrong with me, Serafina.”
Serafina looked at Braeden, and she spoke very softly, not sure she wanted to know the answer to the question she was about to ask. “Was it like that when you met me?”
“I don’t…I…”
“Would you just as soon I go?” she said quietly, trying to understand.
“No, it’s…it’s hard to explain…”
“Try,” she said, praying that he wasn’t just about to tell her that he felt nothing for her and just wanted to be alone.
“When I met you, it was different,” he said. “I wanted to know who you were. When you ran down the stairs and disappeared, I was frantic to find you again. I searched all over, every floor. I checked every closet and looked under every bed. Everyone else was looking for Clara Brahms, may God be with her, but I was looking for you, Serafina. When my aunt and uncle decided to send me away to the Vances, I pitched a fit of temper like they’d never seen before. You