Samantha was pleasantly surprised by that intense flash of anger that emitted from the man across from her at the mention of her creators. Truly, Samantha hadn't realized that the fae across from her cared that deeply about her well-being. Of course, he might have cared now due to their child that grew within the young woman, but this was a different sort of care. A care for the pain that had been bestowed upon the very human version of Samantha, a girl who had felt all of that pain and trauma. "It's okay," Samantha reassured him, her hand squeezing his once more. Her eyes met his as he praised her for her bravery in facing those women. The corner of her mouth twitched up in a small smile as she nodded. "It was empowering. But also incredibly confusing." The girl admitted. "I used to date a Were boy, and in hanging out with his pack the bond between them and their maker - those of them that weren't born that way, of course - was so close. It felt odd, by contrast, that fae aren't close with their makers. Though, I suppose it makes sense when so many are born this way rather than made." Subconsciously, Samantha's hand drifted to her neck as she spoke about being made, her fingers tracing the line of the silvery scar where they had slit her throat as part of their ritual.

She spoke so easily about the fae now. It was such a contrast from when she had first came to Sacrosanct. Then, she had been so young and so naive. She hadn't understood what she was. "I'm partially glad, though. They were not good makers by any means. I was their plaything for a week before they killed me, but when I woke up... now immortal... they were gone. It was hard to figure out what I was. I'd never even heard of the fae until I came to Sacrosanct. I didn't have a word for what I was, I just knew that these girls had kidnapped me and killed me - and I remember dying. But then I woke up with this newfound ability and it was... exhausting." She could remember how she felt coming across Aiden and Nadya those first weeks in Sacrosanct. The way she had burned her skin on the iron of the playground where Aiden found her. How she'd lived in that dingy apartment with an old futon as her only piece of furniture because she had nothing else. How far she'd come. Samantha let her hand drop from her neck then, a flush creeping across her face. "I'm rambling, I'm sorry."

At the mention of the winged fae, Samantha remained wholly unaware of exactly what Kit was asking her. She twirled a piece of her red hair around her finger as she remembered that evening with Troy. How he'd taught her to dance in the ocean before those wings of his had them soaring up into the clouds. That rush of fear in the girl at being unable to firmly plant her feet on something solid. And yet, that trust that Troy would have been unwilling to let anything bad happen to her. It had been why she had been so keen in the idea of Troy being in her court. She'd enjoyed his presence, of course, but it was that ever increasing sense of safety that she felt around him. That knowledge that he would never have allowed anything to harm her as long as he was able to help it. She'd felt safe with him. She was just thinking about how she should give him a call when Kit's voice reached through her thoughts, pulling her abruptly back to the present. The girl wildly misunderstood the intentions of those words. How she hoped that he didn't think she was interested in another - no, that interest remained entirely for him alone.

The young girl moved then to that other chair, her attention steadfast upon her Kit. It was so easy to feel that passion that existed between them then, her own feelings mixing so easily with his. It was intoxicating for the empath. She wanted to soak it up, to pull herself into his arms and place her mouth upon his. She wanted to run her hands through those dark curls, to feel his hands on her. Somehow, though she wasn't even remotely sure how, the girl managed to keep her hands to herself, instead uttering those promises that she felt the same way and that he held no competition for her affections. For a moment, Samantha remained entirely confused to that scowl that crossed his face, that self doubt worrying the girl before the realization of what she had meant clearly settled upon him. Samantha returned that playful laugh of his with a bright smile of her own, her fingertips brushing on the skin of his forearm as she listened to him speak. Her attention was divided with their proximity this close, the girl only half listening to the words about the winged fae. As he leaned in, Samantha's lips parted slightly, the former queen very nearly leaning in to kiss him.

"Careful, love," Samantha said as he pulled back, her fingertips moving up to brush a stray lock of his hair out of his face. "I think that smirk of yours is what made us end up in this situation." Her tease was gentle, a grin on her own face as she focused upon him. But that smile faltered as he spoke, the name of the fae he sought out one that was entirely familiar to the former queen. She paused then, pulling her hand back as she fumbled across the table for her purse. She pulled her phone from the bag, flipping through the device until the photo she was looking for was prominent on the screen. It was an old photo, snapped that same night that Troy had taken her to the beach, but one that clearly showed Samantha and Troy grinning wildly by the water. She turned the phone towards him, her eyes carefully scanning his reflection. "Is this him?"