For the first time, I'm woken gently. A hand shakes me lightly by the shoulder. My eyes flutter open. The woman is standing above me. "Come on dear, dinner is ready." With a hand, she helps me sit up. What is 'dinner'? She goes back over to the little fire, where a large metal pot sits. It looks kind of like the one they always served the soup from. "I made us some soup tonight." So it is soup? The thought makes my chest hurt. But if it's soup, then what's that smell? "I'll have to apologize later, I used some of our salted chicken, but I'm sure my husband will understand when he sees how cute you are." 'Salted', 'chicken', 'husband'. More words I don't recognize. The first two seem to be related to food though. The last sounds like it's referring to another person.

She comes back, wooden bowl in hand. I take it and look down inside. It's... soup? It looks nothing like the soup I've had before. The soup they always gave us looked just like water. It was clear, maybe a little brown, but that was probably because the bowl was brown. So what is this? This... soup, it is cloudy, so I can't see to the bottom of the bowl, and just a little bit yellow. It has little bits of things of various colors floating in it. Bits of orange, bits of brown, bits of green. Even the cloudy yellow liquid part has these teeny tiny little shiny spots that seem to cover the surface of it, moving around perfectly with the surface of the liquid when it moves.

"Be a good girl and let it cool. I don't want you burning yourself again," she instructs. I nod emphatically. So I hold the bowl carefully in my hands while she goes back over to the fire. I see her retrieve another wooden bowl from somewhere over there. As she does, I hear an odd squeak. The sound brings my attention to a door across from my bed as it swings open. I look up at the person who walks through the door. It's a man. "Marrianne, I'm home," he says loudly, looking over at the woman. He's not that old, but he's pretty tall. Wait, I know this man. He looks different, but I recognize him.

"Ah, perfect timing, I'll get your soup for you," the woman, Marrianne, says back. As she says this, his face snaps back to look at me, staring straight into my eyes.

It's Francis.

"What is that doing here?" he asks, gaze still locked with mine. My eyes go wide. Terror crushes my heart, I can't breath. He's going to tell her what I am. Hot tears stream down my face without warning. She won't be nice to me anymore. She won't be kind, gentle, soft, nice, happy, fun, caring. She'll be terrified, angry, sad, scared, hurt, distrustful.

Marrianne will hate me.

This isn't real. Francis isn't really here right now. It's not happening. My head starts shaking back and forth. He isn't staring at me. He doesn't look scared. He isn't going to tell her.

"What is that? One moment honey," her voice comes like a clear bell. My body is shaking. His eyes don't flick from me to her. He doesn't open and close his mouth a few times. He's not really there. She turns back with a bowl of soup in each hand. "Ah!" she gasps. I hear a loud clatter as she hastily sets the bowls down before snatching away the one in my hands. "You'll burn yourself!" she says shakily. My hands are covered in soup, shaking uncontrollably. It looks like it burns, but I can't feel it. Marrianne hastily wipes them off with her skirt. "Oh honey, it's fine, it's fine," she coos softly, making my pounding heart do flips.

Francis doesn't look back and forth between us. His mouth doesn't open to say something. He doesn't shake his head, set his jaw, and stop looking scared.

"Ah, I'm sorry dear," Marrianne turns away from me, looking into the space in front of the door. "Why is what here?"

"A-ahh, that..." His eyes don't drag upward to the wall behind me. "Quilt. I thought we gave it back to Jeen already."

He didn't say it. Francis did not tell her. It feels like I can focus again. My hands hurt. I vaguely question what that strange... disconnected sensation was. Is there something wrong with my mind?

"No, she said it was a gift," Marrianne responds. "Anyway, I picked up this little one by the well. She's been running a high fever. I've had her resting, but it seems like she's been having bad nightmares. I don't know what happened to her, she even lost her voice." She shakes her head. The pain in my hands is getting worse.

"I... see..." Francis responds. His expression twitches a little, but he doesn't say anything else. He forcefully drags his gaze away from me. "So you made soup?"

"Yes, I... used a little of our salted chicken." She looks a little shy as she says this. I wonder why? "I just thought this little one could use a good meal, after whatever she's been through."

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"I... see..." Francis says again. His hands tremble just a bit. He brings them up, clapping them together, like he's trying to keep them busy. "No helping it, let's eat before it gets cold." He says it cheerfully, but his face still looks stiff. He must be nervous. It must be because of me. He goes over to a wooden table near the other wall and sits down. Slowly, it feels like burning heat is spreading through my hands. How badly did I burn them?

"Come, let's eat," Marrianne says gently. She wipes the remaining tears from my eyes with a smile. I nod. Then she leads me over to the table. There are stools by the table, almost as tall as I am. Marrianne hooks her hands under my armpits and lifts me up onto one. Then she slides it up close to the table, and pulls another near mine. She slides my bowl of soup in front of me, then hands me a spoon.

As soon as it touches my hand, it feels like white hot fire pressed against my palm. I cry out soundlessly, and it clatters to the table. Francis is on his feet, stool toppling over as he puts distance between us. My hands are shaking violently. These burns are really bad, aren't they?

Marrianne takes second look at my hands, then her eyes go wide. "H-honey, get the vinegar! And bandages!" her voice trembles and she rushes away from the table.

She grabs things from small shelves and begins mixing them together. I hear low crackling sounds, like she's crushing something, then a sharp crack. After hesitating, Francis leaves the room. I look down at my hands. They are bright, blazing red. Though some spots are a bit less red, kind of pale colored. That coloring goes all the way down my hands, onto my wrists a little. The whole area feels like it's on fire.

Endless heat spreads from my hands. I can't stop shaking, and it's hard to breath right. I try not to move them. The air hurts. Francis returns a short time later, handing off some things to Marrianne. She mixes them into whatever she is making. Francis moves away again. She quickly returns to the table, carrying a bowl. It has a thick looking, yellowish liquid inside, with bits of green stuff spread throughout.

She takes a roll of cloth, begins to unroll it, and dips it into the mixture. It looks like the cloth the handlers always used. Marrianne holds it up, bringing it toward my hands. My mind goes back to years of them painfully tightening those cloths all over my body, and I flinch away. I'm trembling. She isn't going to hurt me, is she? "I need to bandage your burns," she says softly. Is she crying? "Francis, help me," she addresses him. After a few moments, he moves from his spot against the wall. I can feel him walk up behind me. He's shaking.

He takes my arm and holds it up to Marrianne to treat. As she approaches with the bandage, I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away. Tears squeeze out of my eyes and I clench my teeth in preparation.

The bandage touches my skin, a wave of coolness spreading immediately. I look again in surprise. Marrianne gives me a gentle smile. Slowy, she coils the wet bandages around my hand, down to the wrist. She ties it off at the end. It pinches a little, but it's nothing like when the handlers did it. She then treats my other hand as well. It still feels like my hands are burning, but the cool, moist cloth makes it nowhere near as bad as before.

Once she finishes, she wraps a layer of dry cloth around the wet ones. I can't really move my hands with the layers of cloth over them, but moving them hurts anyway, so that's probably a good thing. Once the little bit of relief sets in, I realize my thighs hurt a little from some of the burning soup landing on them, but it's nothing compared to my hands.

Finally done treating my burns, Marrianne says that the soup is cold, so she takes our bowls and dumps them back into the pot on the fire. I sit down on the bed again. My fever still makes everything feel hot, but it actually doesn't feel as intense now that my hands are so much worse by comparison. Francis still seems to be eyeing me warily, but still does not say anything. My head droops a few times as I sit on the bed, nearly falling asleep again, but it isn't very long before Marrianne comes back with three more bowls of soup.

We sit at the table again to eat. Marrianne presses her stool up to mine. I can't hold a spoon at all now. So like earlier, she scoops up one spoonful of soup at a time and blows on it carefully before feeding me. As soon as it enters my mouth, a shudder runs up my whole body. This taste! This is soup? My eyes light up. I don't even know any words for these flavors! Some parts are soft, I can sink my teeth right through them. Other parts are more stiff, but seem to shred apart and make my tongue tingle when I roll them around in my mouth. The liquid has a strong taste that feels like it reaches to every part of my mouth.

"Careful, make sure to chew your food well before you swallow, or you'll choke," Marrianne instructs me. I nod, making absolutely sure I do what she says. Every time I do something wrong, I just get hurt again. So I have to do whatever she says.

The meal continues in silence. Francis doesn't say anything. He just watches. Marrianne feeds me a spoonful of soup, then eats her own while I carefully chew and swallow mine. After Francis eats a second bowl, we finish the meal uneventfully.

My belly feels so full, and so warm. I've never had so much food before. Between the pain, the fever, the food, and the warmth of Marrianne, I can hardly keep my eyes open. My eyelids begin to droop closed, my head falling toward the table. Gently, Marrianne catches me again. She carries me over to the bed, setting me down lightly. My mind is slowly fading into sleep.

I roll my head to the side. I want to thank Marrianne for everything. Everything ever. My sleepy eyes come to rest on Francis sitting at the table. He is still looking at me. He's always looking at me. My sleepy mind makes my thoughts waver strangely. He's still scared of me. He still thinks I'm going to kill him. But he didn't say anything anyway.

I still can't make any sound, but I say, "Thank you," anyway. It looks like he can tell what I'm mouthing at him. "I'm sorry."