Overture Downs they placed fire-licked pages at the foot of the crown

Not everyone was raised the same, that was for sure. Mary cocked her head slightly to the right, a silent, Hm? written on her face. It was bold of Poet to assume that one had enough trust to share any sort of conversation beyond small talk just yet, but she figured there was no use in nagging this stranger about her poor manners. What do you want to know? she asked. Mary had plenty of stories to tell, if that's what Poet was looking for. 

Why don't you tell me about yourself instead? Why are you doing this to yourself? Of course, everyone had their reasons for the things that they chose to do in life, but this was one of the poisons that Mary just couldn't seem to wrap her head around. Wolves like Poet at least held more dignity than some of the street-walkers she'd met along the way, but so far as the word was concerned, these things were one in the same.