Fear. She got so she couldn't let anyone or anything be out from under 'er thumb, because she were so terrified to be alone. To not be loved.

[She's leaning her face into the cat's soft, purring bulk as she speaks, acutely aware of her own constant neediness; especially lately, with the comas spurring it closer to desperation.]

And arrogance. It's always too easy to convince yourself you know what other people need. Somewhere along the line she lost the 'abit of asking 'em first. That's why she terrifies me. Not because she were dangerous; because she's still me.