[ Even once the brandy touches her lips, Vanessa doesn't elect to drain her glass outright, instead choosing to savor it with small and intermittent sips, occasionally letting the effects of the alcohol blossom on her tongue. She doesn't need to be looking in his direction in order to tell that he's wavering on how best to proceed, whether to bring up the subject that still hovers between them or to abandon it, at least for the moment.

She shifts her weight in the chair, relaxing her posture so that she's resting against its back, the hand that still cradles her glass bracing a forearm against her thigh, and beneath her skirts she idly hooks her ankles together with a small tilt of her hips. ]

An unforeseen side effect of whatever injections they gave us, I suspect. [ And while she had tried to resist it at first, he's among the proof that her efforts had been ultimately futile. ] I don't regret it, either, but — like you, I've dealt with severe consequences for choosing to engage in... well, those sorts of acts, because it leaves me more susceptible to —

[ There may be no other way to address it; she briefly considers a steadying sip of her brandy before choosing to speak the truth. ] There are evil forces that seek to possess me, to wield me to serve their purpose, for the power that resides within me. And they often attempt it when I am at my most vulnerable.