"And still you tell me nothing. You will not say why you are sorry, and so I cannot see that you feel any sorrow at all."

Anne's hand absently rubs at the bodice hugging her breast, or rather keeps dragging her broken nails across it. Clawing, some compulsions from the ship naturally carrying her over when she is this distracted by such thoughts. Memories.

"But it was not all your fault. It was not all... And still it matters not. I think you would receive no mercy. Hanged, drawn, and quartered... That would be your punishment. And myself, I shall be burned." Just as she lets out the last word, her lips press together so tightly they turn white, but what bursts free is a laugh rather than a sob. Or maybe it's both, hysterical in panic to be sure. "At least I will be prepared! Come, Spike, shall I prepare you for your fate so you shall know what to expect? First I will need a rope."