The Koptic woman had the decency to look ashamed as Gregor produced the glittering silver fork.  But when he pronounced his judgement, she flinched as though slapped.  Her lips twisted downward, helplessly.  For a moment, her beautiful face was a raw canvas of pain, her voice weak and miserable in the emberlit darkness.

"I [i]needed[/i] it." she whimpered, pitifully.  "[i]They had so many[/i].  They had hundreds!  They did not need this one.  I thought that it would be alright--"  She pushed the palm of her hand into her eye and turned away, apparently busying herself with tightening her belt.

It was a moment before the belt was satisfactory.

"...Yes, I understand." She told him, in a strained voice.   She turned back to face him, her eyes still downcast, her voice bitter. "I understand a lot of things."

She held out her hand for the fork, her gaze still lowered, and fixed on the dark trickle of blood spreading between their feet.