Kaitiaki doesn't remember first learning that she was a freak. In her earliest memories, it's already true, a fact about the world baked into every social interaction.

 People don't like the gross, oil-sheen feathers on her arms and legs, or the screeching quality in her voice that doesn't seem to go away even at a whisper. They don't like the way her neck twists unnaturally far, or the piercing stare she gives whatever has caught her attention. And they're not shy about letting her, with their words, with their body language, and (when she's unlucky) with their fists or feet. 

Kaitiaki doesn't remember first learning that she was a freak. In her earliest memories, it's already true, a fact about the world baked into every social interaction.

 People don't like the mark on her face. They don't like the gross, oil-sheen feathers on her arms and legs. They don't like the screeching tone in her voice that doesn't seem to go away, not even when she's trying to whisper. They don't like the way her neck twists unnaturally far, or the piercing stare she gives whatever has caught her attention.

People don't like her, and they're not shy about letting her know. With their words and their body language (if she's lucky), and with their fists or feet, the rest of the time. 

Kaitiaki doesn't remember first learning that she was a freak. In her earliest memories, it's already true, a fact about the world baked into every social interaction.

 People don't like the mark on her face. They don't like the gross, oil-sheen feathers on her arms and legs. They don't like the screeching tone in her voice that doesn't seem to go away, not even when she's trying to whisper. They don't like the way her neck twists unnaturally far, or the piercing stare she gives whatever has caught her attention.

People don't like her, and they're not shy about letting her know. With their words and their body language (if she's lucky), and with their fists or feet, the rest of the time.