A dependency maybe, if I was not careful with managing myself and my urges. I could grow dependent on it, on the way it makes me feel.

[Whole, Alive, like a complete person instead of a hollow shell wrapped around an ever-hungering void. Happy, in a single word.]

It’s a drug. That’s all it is. I don’t need it, but it makes everything easier when I have it. Why do you ask?

[The last is hushed, not quite reproachful but curious on why Clara would be pursuing so intimate a line of questioning. She has her own suspicions, and her red gaze lingers on Clara’s wrist, watching it carefully.]