As Anya reformed, she glanced at Remington's flailing, bloody body on the ground before violently turning away. Only minutes ago she was talking to this man, and couldn't for the world ever imagine that he would do something bad to her. Now he was as good as dead, on the floor after bringing a dagger to her throat. She understood that he [i]was[/i] bad and that her papa had to do what he did, but she still didn't like it.

"...It's fine, papa," Anya replied, as she lumbered towards the door. She didn't want to be in there any more, and it wasn't just the body. She was beginning to feel hungry, and being around the intense smell of blood might make her lose control. She imagined sticking her fangs into Remington and feeding on him, which made her feel ashamed and nauseous. It was OK when her papa was letting her do it, holding her and smiling, but the thought of attacking someone near death in cold blood like that made her queasy.

Anya stumbled out the door, and walked a few feet before collapsing in tears on the opposite wall.