Completely still and not even allowing herself to blink in case she missed it when the knife came down, Mabelle gasped quietly as it sliced clear through to the table. It wasn't as impressive as the addicting thrill of watching a guillotine blade through a neck (even if it took a couple tries by the end of the day), but it filled her with the same cold, pleased shiver, even with herself on the other side of the blade for once. Her hand jerked by reflex, tips of the remaining fingers pressing against the bloodied tabletop.
Staring attentively at the pooling blood for a long moment, no fear was registering even with the quickening of her heavy pounding in her chest, but pain was a feeling that even Mabelle couldn't escape. Not that she wanted to, fascinated by how much losing such a tiny piece of herself could hurt, the way the sharp burning sensation radiated up through her entire arm. She'd injured herself plenty of times in the past, always rather reckless and clumsy as a child with more bruises and scrapes she could keep track of, but it never felt as satisfying as this. Other hand pressed over her mouth, she muffled a tiny moan, knees trembling. Briefly wishing she'd taken Michel up on the offer for a chair as her legs threatened to give out, Mabelle leaned back against him instead for support.
"Oh," was all she managed to breathe out, a tiny nod in response. This certainly wasn't what she was expecting.