Under the dawn light she struck me as rather lovely, in a brooding, self-absorbed sort of way. You would not know, looking at her, that she was a drunken monster addicted to the suffering of others. But you would know, probably, that she was difficult. She tried to turn her head. The right side of her face had swollen up where she’d struck it in a fall. She seemed to be recovering from ergot; what a remarkable sign of her character that the Cancrioth had tried to poison her after just a few hours of her company.
