[And that just takes her breath way. Enough so that she curls her hands into fists, and does - just for a bit - literally stop breathing.]

[Even after - when she's breathing again, it takes a bit to find her voice. Which is very quiet, and a little fragile, now.]

That's not... fair. Isley. I barely know you. I know stories. And I know history. And I know...

[That no matter how pleasant you are, even if you're honest, and well-intentioned, you still are what you are. But she can't quite get that out. So her voice breaks, instead, and she gasps a little.]

...that's not how I see you. I wish I did; it would be easier if I did. Because what if... what if I did believe you? Then what?

Then I wouldn't know what to do. Not that I know now. But if I believe you it'll be so much worse.