<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: teal">Isra sighs deeply. This was turning into a deeper conversation than she had intended for. More than anything, talking about certain subjects all of the sudden when she didn't even know the guy? Where was this going, and why was it spiraling out so fast? Because she kept actually replying, that's why. Probably because through most of her life, there was no one to talk about these things with. The children were young, they couldn't exactly understand things like dating just yet... or the majority of this conversation. More than anything, she was tired of rambling on about things. Her opinion didn't matter anyway, they were just words. Words with meaning that wasn't being conveyed properly, and that annoyed her the most. She hadn't stopped to think about her answers like she normally did. As a result, sometimes her responses came across wrong, in ways she didn't intent for. <br/><br/>Ignoring his statements to himself about whatever he mumbled on about under his breath, she turned to the side and closed her eyes. Forget this. Forget everything. Forget the warden, forget the rules, forget his small random questions here and there, sprinkled throughout this time of trivial importance. Her eyebrows furrowed in frustration as her hand reached up subconsciously to feel where the pain started deep in the back of her skull. She never talked like this. Never usually talked longer than she had to. Sadly, this was becoming actually painful for her to want to keep going. Who cared how long humans lived or what it was like to be mortal? Her answer would surely be biased, he should ask someone else. <br/><br/>Once she assumed he was finished talking, a still silence hung in the air a moment while she gathered the remnants of her sanity to think of any logical response. This was pointless- all of it. She was done here. But not before trying to finish this off- she had things to do, even though they probably weren't that important to begin with, except for checking on the children and telling Michael to keep his anger in check. <br/>"Alright," She began, releasing a long breath she didn't know she'd been holding, "Cut the crap. We shouldn't be talking like this in the middle of the hallway. It's not the time nor place for this. You just got here. Regardless, no, that does not mean you can completely ignore any and all rules. Setting the building on fire would be a bit of a problem. So would killing someone." <span style="font-style: italic">Unless it's the Warden.</span> "Just do what you want without causing mayhem or causing the entire city to collapse on itself. So long as there isn't a ragnarok going on or something, forget curfews, forget whatever else you want. I go out at night because I can't go anywhere during the day. For us mortals, that means getting around the rules without getting caught. Sneaky, you would say. Although you don't have any risk if you did get caught in the first place, unless you want to stay hidden as a human guy."<br/>She remembers his expression and words during his response to her protecting of the children and can't help but feel a small pang of guilt somewhere in the bottom of her heart. She hadn't meant to sound so rude when saying 'you're a demon', so he couldn't understand. That was a spur of the moment remark she made through a feeling of hostility. In all honesty, as she so often thought, she didn't believe all demons to be monsters... she knew nothing about demons. There was no way to put any accusations on them. To an extent, she even felt bad for them, being called 'evil' by generation upon generation of humans and priests and lying churches. It was sick. Probably because she herself was a stereotype, and would be picked on by the same groups of people. Their groups were misunderstood. That little they had in common, if anything. Her eyes darken momentarily, as though deeply confused and distraught.<br/><br/>"I understand that being brought up in such ways can make you stronger... but it merely breaks others. Humans are fragile... surely you understand that. I know they'll live without my help. I know they're fully capable of becoming something greater. But she'll pay for the lives she's already taken..." Her eyes become sharp, slightly widened with evidence of sleep loss in the red-tinted rims. It was the look of someone with a broken mind- almost borderline insane. "She'll pay for everything she's done... I am no crutch... even with me gone they'll survive just fine on their own, they don't rely on me. I only intervene when they're being stabbed nearly to death. I don't protect them from bruises and broken bones, nor slaps to the face. They know pain. They understand it. And they, above all else, will learn from it. The only reason I stay is to remind them someone does care." <span style="font-style: italic">Because no one gave a damn about me. No one ever will. </span> Suddenly a small smirk crossed over her features for a moment. Her bangs fell in her face, blocking her eyes. "Yes, I do care too much... more than anyone understands... but I could give less than a rat's ass about myself... that being said, I am not their crutch. They are mine." <br/><br/>Because without the children there giving her some sense of reason and purpose in this screwed up world, she was dead as it was. One day she would kill the Warden. She would get her caught somehow and make sure the children escaped to lead better lives than they would ever find and suffer here. Once they moved on, so could she. Except she would be moving on somewhere else... by her own hand, or by the hand of the Warden. Either way, she would die for something. She couldn't just die for nothing... that was too easy.<br/><br/>Almost as if she realized she had lost it for a second there, she blinked and a frown replaced that insane smile, slowly tilting her head upright and fixing her bangs into their natural position. She pulled up her sleeves a bit to reveal skin, digging her nails into the flesh and drawing fresh blood into little pools that lightly dripped down towards the floor form gravity. Pain restored her mental state to normal. Reminded her she was alive and had to control herself. She was losing it again. <span style="font-style: italic">Control yourself, damn it.</span> Who would have thought such a simple conversation would rile her up so badly? With a sigh, she pulled her sleeves down and turned her icy gaze back to him, not in the mood to keep talking. Any desire to speak was gone as fast as her statement had spilled from her lungs.<br/><br/>"I'm getting Michael. Stay or follow." Her words were brief and stern, eager to cut the conversation off. God forbid that ever happen again, except on Sundays, apparently. Isra quickly walked around him and down the steps to the second floor, willing herself over and over to calm her angry blood and let it go. Let everything go. Just cool it. </span></div>