[ Shamelessly, her fingers brush along the back of William's hand and down his fingers, before taking hold of the knife's handle. Though she looks positively thirsty for blood, somehow, she knows that he means so much more. ]

Oh, I do hope so...

[ Unfolding the knife, she turns its blade up to fulls appreciate its profile and the way it glistens while still clean. It's a fleeting moment - and then, she's glancing back to the groveling sack of bones and gut. ]

After all, how does one convey the incessant r a g e at the world, for fucking oneself up so badly?

[ She turns back, stalking up to the man painfully slow, as she looks him over with disgust. ]

For forcing an unwilling soul onto this earth, a stranger in its own body.

[ Planting a foot on either side of the man, she leans down, drawing the knife down his front. It's just enough to skim the fabric, and nick his skin here and there. ]

And no matter how you arrange it, it's never going to be right, because that's simply not the way it was built. The remorse encompasses you, a reminder of what you don't have... That very possibility was taken from you at conception!

[ As she grasps his clothing to tear at its new seam, her voice rises. ]

I wonder, what could I take from you?