Mistress Gentle led the way down the hall. Our footsteps pattered on the linoleum; I was shocked at how quiet it was in here. I would have expected an orphanage to be full of the usual noises of children: laughing, crying, screaming, etc.

"And you're sure you want to adopt, Mr..." Mistress Gentle gulped before saying my name; people often did. "Mr... uh... Stabs People?" Her eyes darted back down to the background check that I'd had to pass before being allowed to adopt a child. How many times was this that she'd read it over just to make sure? It of course mentioned all the trouble I'd been in as a youngster, and how many people I'd stabbed. But that was all in the past, and according to the form I was now an upright citizen. Not that anyone believed that, with my name. "It's not for everyone, you know."

"I'm quite sure," I told her as we walked. "I've always wanted kids." Unfortunately it turns out that finding a stable life partner is a bit of a challenge when you're named 'Stabs People.'

"I see." Mistress Gentle tried to smile at me, but it just looked like she was seasick. The idea of letting Mr. Stabs People walk away with a child from her orphanage would keep her up at night for weeks despite the reassurances from the state that I am completely rehabilitated. Some people have this idea that you can never change your name trait. I don't believe that at all, but Mistress Gentle clearly did.

We arrived at a door marked "Dormitory C" at the end of the hall. "I'm sure we'll be able to find a suitable match for you here," she said. The door clicked open, revealing a few rows of bunk beds. Inside, children were reading, playing games quietly, etc. They all looked up like exhibits at the zoo as Ms. Gentle and I strolled through the room.

"This here is Stubborn," she said, introducing a boy with curly brown hair. "And this here is Trust Issues," she waved at a young girl with dark skin and green eyes. That one was certainly a self-fulfilling prophecy. She continued around the room, introducing children with various inconvenient name traits. Adoptive parents only wanted Ms. Smells Like A Rose; it was no wonder that these poor kids had all been left behind.

In the corner, I noticed a huddled mass under a zebra-striped blanket. "And who is this?" I asked as I gently lifted the blanket.

"Oh, careful!" Mistress Gentle shouted just as a pair of teeth lunged for my hand from under the blanket. I was just barely able to avoid being bitten by the little girl hiding underneath. She promptly pulled the blankets back over her face and continued hiding in her corner. "That," Mistress Gentle said, "Is Bites People. She... well..." The name made it pretty clear. I also noticed that Bites People's bunk mate had a circular bruise on her forearm.

I remained crouched near the little girl, no older than three or possibly four. "Bites People," I said, gently pulling the blanket away. "I'm Stabs People." She didn't recoil in fear like every other person I've ever met. I can't even tell you how much that meant to me. Instead, she just bared her teeth. So I offered her my arm. "Go ahead," I told her. "You can bite me if you really want to."

She glanced at my arm, then back at me. Her lips quivered a bit and then fell back into place over her teeth and formed a fearful frown.

"Good job, Bites People!" Mistress Gentle enthused. "Your training is really working!" Training, I thought. Like a dog.

"Bites People, would you like to come stay with me for a while?" I asked. "It would just be temporary to see if things would work out between us."

Mistress Gentle took a step back. "This one?" She didn't even bother hiding the incredulity in her voice. Should have been Mistress Judgmental, I thought to myself.

I picked up Bites People in my arms. Poor thing was shaking. But she didn't try to bite me; she just hugged my shoulder close and whimpered softly. "Yes, this one," I told her.

"RRRROOOOOWWWRRRRR!!!!" I formed my hands into claws, held my elbows close to my chest, and became a T-Rex. Bites People squealed with fear and delight and went running off through the house as I stomped after her. She pattered through the kitchen and around the dining table; I followed with loud, heavy steps that echoed down the hall. Finally I caught up to her and scooped her up in my arms, vowing to eat her for dinner. She giggled, and just for a moment I reflected on how completely different she was after only 2 months at home.

"Dino Movie?" I asked her. She nodded and squirmed in my arms as I carried her to the couch.

I flicked on the TV and once again pulled up her favorite movie: the Land Before Time II. We'd already watched it a few dozen times in the two months since her adoption, and she already had all the lines memorized. But I didn't mind; after all that time in the orphanage, she deserved to have her choice for a while.

The movie came on, and Bites People watched with rapt attention, particularly any time Chomper was on screen. He was her favorite character: a 'Sharptooth' who had overcome his predatory instincts and made friends with all the herbivores. She cuddled up close to me on the couch as theme music played.

She was so engrossed in the film that she didn't even notice her little tic: she was softly biting on my arm. Kind of in the absent-minded way that other kids would suck on their own thumb. And gently, of course: the way that a cat will nibble at a blanket while it kneads. Just a little love bite.