Abigail betrays her surprise in stillness rather than anything more overt ;all the same, she is surprised - shocked, even. Three years. Abigail does the same kind of qualitative calculations as Evelyn, but measures on the scale of her own life. She is still young enough that three years sounds endless. Three years ago she was fourteen years old; she was in sophomore year. Her father hadn't even started teaching her to hunt, yet.

Even if they don't age here, hearing from someone who has been around that long is disconcerting to Abigail. What if she is here three years? Or five? She's been enjoying her time here, generally. Enjoying the freedom from responsibility and notoriety. But the real possibility of being here indefinitely hits her then, and she realizes she doesn't want to. She wants to get back to her own world, her own life - to make something of it. What, she doesn't quite know yet. But something.

Holding the teacup absently, Abigail sits down heavily in the dusty chair at the unused desk.

"Wow." That's about all Abigail can manage, right now.