[ The demon had, for a short bit, pretended to be Dean. It hadn't corrected her when she initially addressed him as Dean, had tried to wave away the idea that he should be dead. But the demon had been able to sense it, that something was taking hold of her mind, and then had no reason to keep hiding -- she asked him point blank if he was still Dean, and the answer was I'm something more fun now, with those eyes.

He didn't suddenly morph into a Witcher, and Flagg's, a demon's, possession is the only other thing she's heard of with that effect. She knew what she was dealing with.

It just didn't feel wrong. The same way it stopped feeling wrong to see crucifixions and beheadings. Like being in a trance.

Geralt apologizes to her, and she doesn't quite know what to do with that. She has spent so many weeks feeling so terrible, so worthless; she would almost rather he be angry, so at least she could justify the pain she's in. ]

I don't... [ She sniffs and sighs. Her eyes roll to the ceiling, both searching for words and trying to keep the watery line along her bottom lashes from spilling over. ] I don't want to be a burden to you. I don't -- I don't want you to get tired of me. To decide I just make your life harder.

[ Swallowing hard, her shoulders shake a little. She clutches her wine glass. ] I don't want to be a bad person.