Re: Greenhouse.
She didn't expect him to return the skull to the earth. Like her marionette, she expected him to take it with him. She was momentary confusion, and then she ran her pristine fingers along his cheek in a childishly soothing gesture. She was still looming over him, still warm against his back and dirty against his spine. There was no true sense of personal space, no valid understanding of the concept. Her touch wasn't something axe worn. It was light and too soft, as if it feared its own pressure against the line of his cheek. "What are 'most people's standards?'" she asked, oblivious enough to the shades of gray that she didn't understand if that meant she was actually bad or not. "Who killed her? Did you kill her?"
She frowned as the skull was buried again. "Maybe," she said truthfully of whether or not the one she sought would find something similar. "No, yes," she added, no clearer for having added the two words. "It doesn't discount you," she said, and her intake of breath rattled against his back. She couldn't spend all her time questioning people to certainty, not when the hours were short and she needed to make sure she ended up with the right one in her box.
She walked around in front of him, her feet treading upon the dirt he'd just put back into place. She cupped one of his cheeks with a soft hand. "I can't tell if it's you," she said regretfully. "I should be able to tell." She sounded schoolgirl young, and there was a sad intake of damp breath before she leaned in and kissed his cheek just above where her hand rested.