"If I were lost, would I be speaking to you?" She questions him back, pale eyes watching him carefully. She can feel the similar tug in the ether coming from him, curling and whispering to the creature within her. He has darkness, just as she does. And while she may dress like any woman of her station, her hands are bare--no gloves to be seen.

Which is far from conventional; but she is not one for convention.

And like many things with her, she needs to reach out and touch things, feel true contact. For better or worse.

"And I am no lady. Miss will do." She has no title; nor is she ever likely to have one.

"To answer your question, no, I am not lost. Though I suppose the answer to my question is somewhere in between the answers I suspect of you."