It's not easy. But it must be done. She takes a drink of the tea first, and lets the warmth brace her a little. She can so easily imagine him turning her out in disgust, asking her to leave after he knows - and yet, she finds herself speaking.

"...I am a murderer, Artemy. I have killed enough people that even if I had my memory intact, I would not be able to count or name them all. Enough to build a tower from their corpses and still have more left over. There is blood embedded in my skin such that I cannot even begin to wash it away."

The door has been opened. Inevitably, she thinks, he will have questions. And her answers will be no comfort. But he is being brought this before he seeks it, told before something forces the words from her as an abscess may burst with infection. Lance it, and take care of it yourself. Even if it hurts.