[Freedom? How that question rang so loudly in his head these days — how it had defined his life in conflicting ways just half a year before. Connor’s brow furrows, easily seen from even his profile in this lighting. He watches as a couple of children dart away from a fussing mom below. As a couple sits on a bench together, laughing about something silly. A large family, a whole gaggle of young and old, milling about and looking like they were deciding what to do next.

Everything here was so… normal, in a way he didn’t realize how normal was until he arrived here. There are no expectations tossed upon him, no looks of hate or concern or pity because of what he is. He is considered human, and in a lot of ways that is freeing as much as it highlights just how much he actually doesn’t have.

It’s hard to know how to answer.]

Yes… and no.

[He looks at her.]

There’s freedom here, in what I can do and experience. People don’t see me as something inhuman, they see me as one of you. And it’s refreshing to be treated accordingly.

[A shadow of melancholy passes over his features, just barely there.]

But as nice as it is, it’s still just me hiding from the reality of the situation. If people here knew what I was, I think the reaction would be fear. And I can’t ignore the issues of my own world, hanging over my head. No matter how nice it is to spend time in this world, and with you.

[Ah, well, he looks out the window again.]

Sorry, I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful. I am. It’s hard to explain. [His mind turns itself over for a comparison.] It’s like walking in the sunlight with a shadow still following behind you.