Mary is a bit shy when alone with men, something that is both fear and disdain sitting in her gut. She doesn't remember when the disdain entered her heart, but she supposes it must have been after her marriage? Musn't it? (It might always have been there, something corrupted inside of her--)

"It seems... worse, maybe, on All Soul's Day." Her eyes linger on the clouds overhead, her mouth open and loose in a childish expression. "All the dead watching..."