Poisoning myself with my own cooking sounds totally on brand, but yeeaaaah, still something I'd rather avoid if I can. Constructs did the cooking on the Ninth, I've probably said that before. And okay, in hindsight maybe it is fucking weird that skeletons used to make me my breakfast? But hey, they never poisoned me. Not without instruction, anyway.

[Harrow had once orchestrated this, slipping something nasty into her food that had her crapping blood for a month and prevented yet another of her escape attempts. Good times. Healthy relationships.

She turns to survey - what is to her - the vast expanse of her apartment. Blows out a huff of air. Suddenly this new venture takes on the tones of intimidation.]

So much space. What the fuck have I done?