The Amnesiac looked at the man again, looking weary at the moment. "And you care?" Her answer was not asked in surprise, but skepticism. "Not many care and those that do care is because of what I can do for them... with the exception of one, I think." She gave a half smile, not hostile, nor did she sound particularly depressed. There was a noble bearing about her, she had the look of one who should have lived a life of privilege, even in the moonlight. "But then again, I do not know of those who might care besides who I do know of. Such is life for someone who doesn't know who she is." She gave a shrug and then moved to sit down on a boulder. "I wonder at times but it's becoming clear that I may never find the answers I seek."

Indeed, she had been thinking quite a bit... and saving money up to grease palms for information of her past. She did not remember her family... not her birth family anyways. She'd always remember Lorenzo, the man who called himself a eunuch and protected her with everything that was in him. He'd been a constant until about a year prior when someone had murdered him soundly in the Venetian Ghetto. She would never forget the way she had found him outside of the building they'd called home, a ramshackle. But life before him? She couldn't remember for the life of her.