... He had an interesting point there, and she hated it. Hated it enough to laugh right along with him but where Bert's eyes were hard, her own were pained. He wasn't supposed to do this, she had tried to irritate him enough to keep him away, couldn't he see that? Of course it hadn't worked, he just went and did whatever he wanted, even if it didn't make a damn bit of sense. And it would probably get him killed, now, even with her help.

But trying was a better route to go than standing around and having an existential crisis over it. So she glowed. And went about killing things again.

There still wasn't any thinking in it and despite what Alain might have thought, she didn't go after Cuthbert. This wasn't what she had been truly concerned with because while it was exhausting and pushed her already confused excuse of a body, it was more a matter of exerting strength. What scared her was the occasional flash of darkness, the sense of unreality and being pushed from her own limbs. Every time she came back those marks were on her skin, growing in size.