[She understands; she knows. Once, touch was only pain. Even now, too much and she begins to feel constricted in the back of her throat, certain that a blow is coming - if not this second, then the next one. Soon, soon. The only absolutely sure thing is that no good thing lasts.]

[She doesn't believe this in her head anymore, or her heart, but the body remembers for longest.]

[Dropping her hands, she backs away until there are meters between them, a cautious distance. Then, instead of bowing, she curtsies, low and graceful.]

It was a privilege. If you want to learn more - on another day, any other day - I would like to teach you.

And thank you for . . . showing me . . . [She struggles for the words, and ultimately settles for repetition:] Thank you for showing me.