"A fellow inmate to this asylum," Fatima replied, giving him a brief, scrutinizing look. He wasn't pinging her Cainite radar. Which made sense, given the fact that he was in a hospital bed.

She wondered why.

Well, there was always the lively art of conversation. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, before folding her hands behind her back.

Fatima was a pretty girl. Not exactly beautiful or a sex kitten. But she knew how to work with what she had. And it helped that she had access to all the makeup she could ever want. She layered it on thick, over her eyelids and lips, giving herself an almost feline appearance. But she wasn't delicate. No, she had tight, lean muscles, built from surviving Zelien and her own world of darkness.

"Name's Fatima," she said. "And no, I'm not a terrorist."