...I don't know what I am supposed to be tonight, Alucard. What role I play in the story we're telling.

[She's careful, when she reaches to stroke his hair, that she doesn't muss it or let even a single perfectly-arranged lock go out of place. But her bare fingers sink into his mane, rest against the back of his head, and cradle the nape of his neck — what small comfort she can offer him, as they stand on the precipice of terror.]

Am I your pet, your...food? Your healer? Your witch? I don't know...which of these things, what would be of the most use...