Mord'Sith were used to hearing (and more importantly ignoring) insults, usually murmured by those who mistakenly thought they couldn't be heard. Cara more so than most, given that even the presence of the Seeker and the Mother Confessor wasn't always enough to quell gossiping villagers. So it had been simple enough for her to dismiss the talking vegetables.

At first.

It got harder as the numbers of onions in her room increased throughout the day, each adding their own whisper to the chorus.

"Traitor."

"They don't trust you. They shouldn't trust you."

"If you were stronger you wouldn't have broken."

"Quick enough to get rid of you once you weren't useful any more, weren't they?"

"They'd be disgusted if they knew. Or amused."

Then there was the one making a sound like a cat yowling. Not continuously, but in cycles that rose in volume before either fading away or cutting off abruptly, only to start again.

Hand wrapped tightly around an agiel, focusing on the familiar sensation shooting through her palm and up her arm, Cara stared blankly ahead, refusing to give a bunch of bulbs the satisfaction of a response.

[Establishy]