Mary wished flowers were good enough, but the blood she had come to accept. She loved him and that required accepting all that he was, even the parts that jarred against what she was supposed to hold true. Truths changed over time, even their very conversation about humanity and belief proved that. Mary could have no idea who she would even be from day to day, how could she demand anyone fit to her ideas of the world?
"Hiding?" she asked, her voice gentle as she watched him.