"A mansion..." and she shrugs. She's always felt better in smaller spaces, cozier corners. It's probably because the only space she's ever completely been in control of is herself. Her own body. Its why Mr. Lawrence and the rest don't bother her. She guides the connections.
She prefers this, a room, a bed, the people she loves pressed into her because there is no other way to be. Maybe its because she's a vampire that she'd feel most at home on a coffin.
And she likes the fresh pink of her fanciful friend. Letitia feels as if she's lost her girlishness such a long time ago. She is petrified wood. A relic. But being around Bekah makes her feel like Spring again.
"I'm not sure I could turn away from this life, Mr. Lawrence's and all."