She growls low, the sound a click in her throat. He could hurl insult after insult at her and it wouldn’t make a difference. Words wouldn’t change what she was, or more, what she wasn’t. Where to anyone else a reminder might have been salt in the wounds, she had learned that retaliation was better than allowing the words to fester.

Using her telekinesis to get her needles back into her hands, she stood up defiantly, pulling on her long hair and holding it out. “Oh, yeah?” she snarled. “Well, then, it’ll be down forever now.”

With a twist of her wrist, her combination of psychic power and the needle sliced unevenly through her hair and she tossed the chunks that came off onto the floor. She stepped on it, turning her foot. “You can even pick it up if you’d like.”