Celia made a grimace of anguish, closing her eyes. Her fist was balled up, and she looked just about ready to hit him. The act of expressing that kind of anger alone was extremely incriminating, as no woman, especially not someone of her stature, had the audacity to even think of hitting a man taller than her. This attitude was giving away something, not just her mental state, but something Celia had initially feared she'd give away: her identity. She was growling under her breath, desperately trying to control the unforgiving beast inside. She was also trying not to straight transform into an angel, either. After a second of near primal anger, she took a deep breath, and calmed straight down, surprisingly. She then looked at him with a solemn expression and said, "A sham I may be, but your family is annoyingly more of one, it seems. A father absent and rejecting you, a mother who seems to only care for herself, the milk drinkers of maids....you had it all. A classic set up for a smart, yet arrogant madman. I only offered an escape from that, and you treat me like the scum of your shoe, almost expectantly waiting for me to run off. Again, I'm not leaving. I see the kind of help you need, and you refuse. I'll stay until you stop refusing anymore. I'll stay until you realize what you're doing to yourself is wrong. I'll stay until you pass away, if need be."
She didn't even know what she said by then.