“I can’t,” she whispered, though now she wanted to. Could she have been so wrong, so deceived by her own eyes? “You will,” he said. “My sensory organs aren’t dangerous to you. You’ll have to get used to them.” “No!” The tentacles were elastic. At her shout, some of them lengthened, stretching toward her. She imagined big, slowly writhing, dying night crawlers stretched along the sidewalk after a rain.
