[img]http://imgur.com/SQm6im5.jpg[/img]

[i]“Can you do something about... that? Your aura-thing? I think everyone would be in a better mood if you could tone that down a little.”[/i]

Angora shook her head sadly. "[i]I... I can't control it much... it varies on my.. my e... emotion?[/i]" Angora looked at the ground as the painted woman seemingly tended to her wounds, and the green-skinned man crouched by her - probably to keep her from doing any sudden moves judging by his grip on his knife. Angora, despite her fear of these people, tried to communicate as best she could. Perhaps if she co-operated with them, they would be less likely to kill her? And besides, the old man seemed genuine enough, perhaps she could use him as a way of keeping the others from harming her... Her voice rang hollow in her throat, it having gone unused for seemingly forever. And yet, the words came - from where, she did not know, but that did not matter for now. "[i]I-I'm sorry... It... The attack was... it wasn't necessary. Other people... like you... they make me scared... they make me fearful that they will kill me and take the sword... S-So I kill them first... It... It feels like the... the natural thing to do?[/i]" Angora looked down at the ground, now overcome with the shame of her actions. Maybe the other people weren't hostile? Maybe they didn't want the sword, maybe... maybe she'd killed them without reason? Maybe she'd killed them in cold blood? There was a word for that. A word that even Angora knew.

[i]Murderer.[/i]

The very thought of the word was crippling. As Angora looked down at the ground, unable to face her captors from the shame of her actions against them, her face burned. Her wounds dripped fresh blood that had rushed to the surface of her skin, seemingly to the painted woman's annoyance. And the old man's voice... she heard dim voices in her head... voices she thought she recognised, speaking the same language that the old man had been speaking to his companions. She heard a man's voice and chuckle, and footsteps, but then a shout, and a scuffle... And the unmistakable sound of a knife plunging through flesh and blood. Angora's eyes opened wide as she heard the next voice. It was her own. Speaking the same tongue as the old man. Seemingly triumphant. And then, the voices faded away.

"[i]Old man... Your language... it brings back... m-memories... dim ones... I don't know what they mean... like I remember them, but I don't...[/i]" Angora looked into his eyes. "[i]Could you help me understand?[/i]"