[It's the razor-sharp edge in her that he's come to respect as much as anything else that the society they both have a hard time finding their way into would find acceptable; an edge so much sharper in her than in most. An edge that would actually kill, has actually killed. Maybe if he'd grown up with the mother that instead gave him up to be broken and honed, he wouldn't have the same edge.

But he does, and he finds himself wanting to smile again, though he still doesn't.]

He was out of control and had been for several months. No one was doing anything. When the Lady asked for his sacrifice, it was easy to do.