“You are not ashamed of your appearance?”
“Should I be?”
“You appear less and less human each time.”
“I’m sitting on the edge of an unscalable cliff that hangs over a mile above the sea, in a hostile environment, surrounded by dangerous things, and you’re taking offense that I don’t look pretty?”
“You’ve let yourself go. It concerns me.”
“Do you know what we call pretty things around here?”
“Fluff?”
“Bait.”
“…”
“I adjust to my environment. That is how I survive. Keep your lovelies, your waifs, and your impossible expectations of beauty. The Darkness comes, and when it goes, I will still be here, and your pretty corpse will be shat out by noon.”
And those were the last words before the sun fully set, and the Darkness came.