By the time she'd fallen to the addictions, she was already fifteen hundred years old. It takes a toll being that old. She's sure that others who haven't found their peace and quiet in their age, have fallen victim to worse things than opium and alcohol.

She raises her eyebrows, sipping her coffee. "There's no shame in staying on Holy Ground." Heather's done her time on holy ground more than she'd care to admit. She still remembers stumbling out of the bombed church in the middle of a war and not knowing where the hell she is.

"I haven't come across a hunter in... well, since the first war." She ticks up an eyebrow. "Have you?"