There it is. And that makes Fever relax a tiny bit, because she knows the difference between them is now a chasm as deep as the abyss that whatever creature that compelled their slaughter rose from. Something was done to Jean. Something that perhaps, could be undone. Something that can be saved, washed clean, loved. Something good.

There's no undoing her. There's nothing that was done to her save being born. How she is is how she was made, as twisted and wrong and damned and repulsive as she is. Even if she gets control, somehow, it doesn't change the things she's done or what she's capable of. She'll have to break their heart to convey it, but it'll have to be done. All she can do, really, is enjoy the company of others before they know not to give it. Settle in moments like this, before something will inevitably go wrong.

Ticking time bomb, Daisy had called it. Her eyes lower from the drawings, move back to Jean. Settle on a spot right behind their ear, so she can cheat the eye contact when it resumes.

"I'm glad that your paths crossed. That you have people like that, who can do that for you. You deserve that."

And yet, she means every word of it. Why wouldn't she be glad for them? That they can have people who aren't scared of them. A house that is a home. Animals that aren't afraid, and the ability to drink coffee with someone else.