Something tells her that I'm just a normal girl wouldn't cut it. Nothing about her demeanor indicates normalcy even by many of these people's standards, and she hasn't made much an effort to appear as such. It would only be a matter of time before truth would come to light, anyway.

"I am none of those things, for starters." As she says this, she starts clearing the low table of the now-emptied teapot, cold to the touch under her gloved fingers. There's no need of it for either of them. "Like everything else, we are something of a dying breed where I come from."

Which is ironic, really. But it was bound to happen sooner or later, given the state of the world and humankind as a whole.

Despite this, she doesn't appear troubled by any means. She smiles to him, wisps of black hair hanging over her long face. "Classify me as whatever you want. I'm already dead."

Because telling him to call her a 'Psycho' quite possibly wouldn't go over well.