Sinthia hums her assent to that lightly, head nodding, though she's still tightly-wound like a spring under tension. The glass bits tug on their way out, but one by one they do pull themselves free, landing ont he table with somewhat morbid little tinkling sounds.

It's hardly the first time, or the most painful, time she's yanked something out of herself where it didn't need to be. At least the glass isn't stopping worse bleeding, though each of the tiny cuts is now weeping a droplet or three of blood.

"Is it strange, not having the arm anymore?"