"Um?" She doesn't know? How doesn't she know? No two tieflings look alike, it's true, but everyone in Cheliax knows what horns and a tail mean. Maybe this girl's just never seen one before. "'m a tiefling," she admits in a small voice, waiting for the recognition, for the derision. It's the worst thing she could be, and she's already rehearsing the familiar lies in her head, ready to point out the collar around her neck as a mark of ownership, of safety, even though Mama and Papa have always insisted that they'll never file the paperwork to really own her.