I say nothing, choosing instead to displace my bad memories of the abada with more pressing concerns. Namely, how I will interact with those ponies. Sooner or later, they’ll try to talk to me, as much as I wish they wouldn’t. How I would go about steering that interaction was therefore of paramount importance, and if that Rarity mare was involved, I’d need to be exceedingly careful; socialites were adept at learning things they shouldn’t. Things like one of their prisoners secretly possessing this accursed Gift.