She leans into it this time. Her cheek softly burns beneath Lenore's cool touch, but fuck it all to hell. She wants to have this one soft, sweet thing. Just once she'd like to feel as though she matters even a little bit. Lenore sounds so genuine. Two hundred years is plenty of time to learn the art of fakery and manipulation, but fuck if she doesn't sound like she means it.

Her captor's hand slides away, and she misses it, but she's offering her things she's furiously dreamed of her whole life. The vampire had her at 'pleasure'; that there's also money involved - money she will actually own - only acts to sweeten the deal. And she could leave whenever she wanted to; there, again, is the potential for a lie. But it's more freedom than she's ever been promised in her life before. There’s a small, spikey part of her that still feels she owes it to Drearburh to take revenge, but it’s quickly mollified by the thought that it will be easier to do from outside this shitty little cage.

"Yeah. Yes. I swear to all of that stuff," she takes Lenore's hand, firmly.