As much as she really, really wanted to believe what he was attempting to sooth her with, the symptom of the desire being the way in which she watched him talk very attentively once she'd opened her eyes again, but did not pick her head up... she thought of it, her being only half-responsible, as an arduous and near hopeless task to assign her belief to. She thought to herself, how would he feel if the extent of his injuries were not merely a bite on the arm? (and again, she glanced at it.) what if she'd hurt him to the point that they couldn't be friends?
But she didn't debate it. She knew what he said was correct; she just was absorbing the shock of being what she never wanted to be again, or at least, being unable to contain what she thought she might have been able to. It was complicated.
"I believe you." She'd truced, but told herself she'd just have to be careful from now on to stay away from him, far away from him, when all those things happened. Now she knew his face, not what Lucy knew as Van Helsing's. And she never wanted to hurt him again. "I uhh, like seashells. Sand dollars specifically. And books about anything. I've played Ophelia, Juliet, and Cleopatra on stage more times than I can count. I like flowers and eat too much sugar."
There, some goods things.
"That's just so you know some good things." She smiled.