Sarah kept the smile on her face as she moved through the small celebration, handing out plates, topping drinks, brushing past her partner in moments that felt almost unreal in their softness. Tonight was supposed to be about them — their achievement, their joy, their moment in the spotlight. And Sarah was genuinely happy. She always was, when it came to them.

But beneath the glow of the room, guilt tugged at her ribs like a sharp hook. Every joke she laughed at, every touch she returned, every fond look they gave her — they all landed on top of a truth she never spoke. A truth wrapped in red skin, curved horns, a tail she kept tightly hidden in a different shape. A truth that loved them so fiercely it made her chest hurt.

She watched them laugh with a friend across the room, light catching in their eyes, and for a heartbeat she felt something close to grief. Because they were human. And she was not. And the longer she stayed in this lie, the more fragile everything felt — like a glass ornament in her hands, beautiful and breakable.

When the last guest left and the apartment quieted, she lingered behind to help clean. She needed the distraction.

She paused with a stack of cups in her hands, staring at nothing. They deserve the truth...

What terrified her wasn’t rejection. It was the idea of seeing fear and disgust in their eyes.

But she loved them too much to keep lying. And if this love was real — if what she felt in every quiet morning and every soft kiss was truly shared — then maybe honesty wouldn’t destroy it.

Maybe.

She exhaled, slow, steady, setting the cups down. She would tell them. After they finished cleaning, when the place was quiet and they were alone, she would finally tell them everything — and show them who she really was.