:3
Anna eyed her fingernails as if they were the most important pieces of keratin on earth. It was true, actually, that the nails kept growing after death, and so did hair. She'd quit questioning her own physiology a while ago; she just was. And she wanted to stay that way.
Which wasn't the point of the gesture, she was just thinking vaguely that she needed to trim said nails. "You should have quit while you were ahead," she commented, dryly. "That was just way too much cutesy trash talk."
Still! In essence all of it was correct, just ...too many words. Blah blah, Anna was impatient, she had things to do. "I want the same thing I always have," she summed up, and the faint twinges of bitterness or something like longing were the only markers to betray how tired she was of half an existence. There was no need to lay out that what she wanted was to fit in, or at least blend in when any teenaged girl (no matter how many hundreds of years old) could easily identify that as motivation. "I can't do that if you out me. So you pretend we don't know each other, and I won't kill you. Sound fair?"