It is, isn't it?

[Molly absently brushes a hand over the buds on his shoulder, not trying to yank, but trying to disrupt them somehow. They feel as soft as real buds, and that disturbs him. They should be ugly and gnarled and disgusting, not turning people into pretty topiary.

He stops, sucking in a breath, and it's clear she hit on something dark and worthwhile to speak about.] No... Everything I already knew how to do came back within a month after the shock wore off. Not the talking. That came back after a few months, and I just started speaking again like I was never mute at all.

You've gotta understand, I wasn't all there. I could go through the motions to survive- I'd eat if food was put in front of me and all that. But there was no one home. I don't remember those days very well, but I do know that I was probably way more trouble than I was worth. The circus had no reason to keep me on. I was another mouth to feed who wasn't contributing and might not ever contribute. They could have left me on the side of the road a week or two in, and I wouldn't be aware enough to know what happened.

[Slowly the buds on his shoulder begin to wither.]