She smiled absently at him. "I have a confession to make to you, Apollo," she murmured. "Although I doubt it'll come as an enormous surprise. You're generally pretty good at reading me." Cassandra lowered her hand. "That confession is that I don't like being...that person. The angry, made person. It's not who I wanted to be. I don't enjoy it."

There were moments, she supposed, when it came it handy. The act kept her safe, body and soul, some of the time. It gave her freedom, back home, to go where she pleased and do what she pleased, frightening away anyone who would stop her. The problem was that it also frightened away anyone who might go on some amazing adventure with her.

It left her alone.

"I don't get to be myself often. The person that I feel like I am. But you give me opportunities. Rare occasions." She could only shrug. "It's better."