Laughter. That was understood. Or perhaps the emotion of happiness was keyed in on like a mortal being would find threat from the sight of a naked flame. Either way, it earned a glance shot right at Valerie like a bullet through pane of glass. Brow furrowed, expression confrontational. Then, realising... Melting into something more akin to confusion.

How were facts a source of amusement? Humour, itself, strange and unfamiliar. Most often triggered by cruelty. By sadism. The cleverness of power... But still, no clear memories arose. Nothing stood proud from the wreckage of amnesia. It was as though all recollection had been scorched to ashes, leaving behind only a tantalising glint of what once was.

Of what could yet be waiting, buried, ready for opportune discovery.

Only one word was repeated from the explanation given. That of, "Women..." And Sabra looked down at herself, as though only now had it occurred to her to check thorax for the existence and size of breasts. Or perhaps it was more of a confirmation. Something which had been filed away for later examination, now given priority and relevance. Sabra lifting her gaze to Valerie's chest. Then blinking back up, meeting the human's gaze.

A new sense of status. Of self-identity. Neither better nor worse. It simply was.

"I want..." Still moving along in the night air, Sabra was moving differently than might be expected. There was a kind of half-slouch, only really noticeable close up. Like she was constantly bracing to react or looking for a wild animal to spear. Forehead marred in concentration as the question was considered. Looking out through human eyes as they emerged from where a percentage of Nevada's undead had since come to grief.

Stopping.

Surveying.

"When the revulsion of light comes," she began with spite, "I will not suffer it upon me. It brings me annoyance. I want... A dwelling."