Abigail nods in acknowledgement. None of that sounds all that bad to her, either, which probably says more about her standards than it does about Bela's life choices. They're not all victimless crimes, exactly, but they are far less bloody than what lurks behind Abigail's eyelids. There is a universe of difference between stealing jewels or artifacts or whatever it was, and gutting someone.

The need to confess is like an itch under her skin, but Abigail fights it. She likes Bela, wants Bela to like her. So she chooses carefully what to disclose, what to conceal. It's not exactly artifice: more like selection. After all, what she says next is the truth. Just a select portion of it.

"I'm not sure, but I think... what it's making me want-" Abigail says in a small voice, returning to their earlier point of conversation, "-is to hurt the people who've hurt me." She lets that sit for a moment, jaw set and face still in a way that gives away how hard she's working not to cry. "But I can't. So I'm just stuck thinking of all the ways I'd do it if I could."