Vivian Maier walks hesitantly to the front of the room at the Sheriff's request. Her shoulders are wrapped tightly in a white lace shawl and she carries herself with cold self-assurance. It's hardly the level of composure you'd expect from a woman so recently crucified, but it is quintessential Vivian.
"Ms. Maier," Qui says. "Tell us—"
Corliss waves him aside. "You're looking well, Vivian," she says, examining the recently assaulted Kindred up and down with a disapproving frown. "That legendary composure we know and admire. It's hardly indicative of forgetting oneself."
"The fog has mostly faded from my mind," Vivian replies with stony calm. "Even as Kindred, there is a certain degree of…dismay incurred by having one's home invaded, being overpowered and staked through the heart. I lost almost enough blood to sink into torpor, Eden. One might think you'd show a degree of understanding." She smiles, emphasizing her words to make her sarcasm more obvious—she expects no sympathy, nor does she require it.
"Wallowing in our own empathy won't apprehend your attacker," Corliss says. "Tell us what happened."
Vivian's eyes go vacant for a moment and it seems like she's looking inward, searching for a lost truth. "I…there was a crash from the front door. My butler, Robert, was yelling. I left my study and walked to the top of the stairs intending to make an example of whoever dared to interrupt me. Then…someone came from behind. Powerful…"
Corliss leans forward. "Who was it? A name, a sense, a smell? Anything?"
The Primogen shakes her head, her normally placid face wrinkled with sudden anxiety. "Nothing," she says. "Just a feeling of helplessness I haven't experienced since I was a neonate. The next thing I can remember is coming out of a haze, feeding on the Sheriff's mortal."
Jordan nudges you. "She hasn't mentioned how I found her," she whispers. "Her memory loss from before the assault. Do you think I should say something?"