She lies horizontally across the bed, twirling a piece of hair around her index finger. Her eyes are intent upon the flickering television screen, soaking up news of Kira and his deeds. Her mouth is slightly open. Her eyes are wide and empty.

How vapid, Rem thinks, how utterly human. To idolize without knowing. To worship blindly. It is human to be ignorant.

Misa giggles suddenly and rolls onto her back, her eyes catching Rem's gaze. She winks, and giggles again.

Perhaps that is what is beautiful about her. Perhaps that was why he loved her. Because she is human.

Misa Misa brings herself up onto her elbows. Her top dips low and exposes a great deal of cleavage. Rem keeps her eyes carefully aimed at Misa's eyes, too wide, too innocent for what Rem knows she is capable of.

Rem is not attracted to Misa's body, or any human's body. That is not how love works for her. She is attracted to Misa's sounds, her voice, the cadence in which she speaks, her mannerisms, idioms, little sayings and unique words. She is not in love with her bouncing breasts, or her full ass, or even her heart shaped lips and delicately rounded hips. She is in love with her capacity for affection, with her determination, with her courage, her emotional instability, her sadness, her happiness, her anger.

I am not in love with a human, Rem tells herself. She hadn't been lying when she told Misa that she was a female, and therefore could not love her. She had been certain those were the rules. Yet, there was something in her, something burning her away from the inside out, that knew if she was not careful, she would extinguish herself for Misa if necessary, like a candle left forgotten and burning until there was nothing left to melt.

I am not in love with a human, Rem thinks. She carefully tucks a blanket underneath Misa's chin when she sees that her eyelids have drooped closed. I am not in love.