[ clarice sits back in her seat as she lets the rice and cabbage cool, enjoying the warm burn on the palms of her hands as she cups the bowl. she listens, even if her gaze has now become far away. ]

Back home... people are afraid of me because of what I am. What I can do. And then there are other people who want to celebrate it. To use what I can do for themselves.

[ she scoffs, something dark and derisive. ]

One man's monster is another man's martyr.

[ she takes in a deep breath, finally leaning forward to make herself a spoonful, but it hovers untouched in front of her mouth. ]

I've been stupid before, and trusted the wrong people.

I promised myself I wouldn't be stupid again.

[ and yet, here she is. agreeing to a long shot. listening to and eating food made by a stranger. ]