The gesture is unconscious, her left thumb sliding between her fingers, pressing the space where she doesn't wear a ring (any more-- diamonds from Edvárd, Alec's plain, battered gold band, further back, even, and all of them in a jewelry box in her flat, heart's history condensed into something she can carry); she shrugs, lithe, and shakes her head with one of those small, wry smiles. “No, I have been...'at liberty', for a while.”

Nor is she seeing anyone here, for a 'relationship' value of seeing; booty-calling Tom doesn't count and her admittedly slightly odd friendship with Lucius doesn't, either. She's still getting her bearings here, in some ways, dealing with that which is even more strange and fantastic than she is, and here more than home she does feel as if she needs to understand what she's getting into.

Life was easier when she could divide the world into mortal and immortal; life here is interesting, and she doesn't begrudge it.

“But I'm enjoying my liberty, like you say.”