"How did you learn this? Did you have to train too, or..." 

Or were some people just born twisted?

"Did you ever hesitate? Did something make you... stop hesitating?"

Was there a line? Was there a moment of truth, after which nothing would ever be the same again? Or was it more like relaxing your grip on the edge and slipping down into the dark waters?

"What happened... to [i]them[/i]? To make them this way?"

Were they like her once? Were they like the Cat once?

These questions and their echoes come to her during the endless, arcane toil. The breaks allow her time to think on the previous answers while contemplating the next question. The moments ghost by, blurs of distracted haste as her mind contemplates the dark.