It is a scouring gaze that fixes me in place and flays the skin and muscle from my bones until it is as though all the soft, intimate, raw parts of me are exposed for the world to peck out with its teeth and talons. I have kept myself so perfectly guarded for so long, learning to strengthen my carapace against Aunt Daphne. I have had no home to be soft in, to want and need and to have those wants met. So what is the point in wanting?
