[ The question catches her off guard (because it makes her realize that she's never told anyone before; the only reason the exorcist's boy knew was because he was there). Her chin rests on the edge of her tankard again, propped up on the large drink, and she looks down at the woodgrain of the table by Peter's mug and his hands. She watches his fingers, rather than his face, when she speaks. ]

People will hire exorcists, sometimes, when they think a huli jiing has taken hold of a man's heart. They think we've used part of our own spirit in our magic to steal their vitality, like they have to cast us out to break the spell.

[ She glares at his hands, holding her own tankard a little tighter.

But—

Right, her mother. ]

It was... fifteen years ago, I think. We were staying near a village, in this old temple, and a merchant's son saw my mother when she was trying to catch one of his family's chickens. She got caught in a trap, and she had to transform to escape. Like that knight, he fixated on her, and even though she ran, she kept hearing him every night. But after a few days, she said something changed about what she could hear – like he was feverish or delirious – so she went to see him.

His parents called for a healer, and the healer gave him medicine to try and make him forget my mother, but it was only making him sick. She tried to go back a second night, because she thought her magic could keep him alive, but an exorcist was waiting for her.

He chased her back to the temple where we were hiding, and he took her head while she was trying to find me, to tell me to run.