The fact that she could be a s'lave to the whims of someone without even realizing it made her hate the Valcorac. It made her pity Belle. Did the woman professing freedom truly know it? Or was she just another victim of darker strings and machinations that keep their rival gang in one piece? At least, Vlad, the Xalfli, they didn't impose invisible restrictions. She was bound by blood, but with the full knowledge that she was. It made her 'freedom' that much more meaningful.
And through all the talking, Janice found out this one thing odd. Belle appeared like a broken record, repeating herself over and over again. It would be dumb not to notice the strings of the puppeteer that made her talk. Though of course she was still able to communicate rather well.
"It's a human thing,"
And one of the only pleasures of the night she was able to enjoy from time to time. Having a human form was useful that way. The vampire venom made her sterile like everyone else, of course, rendering the one way of furthering one's liniege being through parasitic means. They were parasites, after all, feeding on humans, hiding in their shadows, using them as much for protection as a means of security. "Though I don't suppose you'd understand."
She didn't ask, nor did she know, how the Nosferatu made more of themselves. They were vampires sure, but that was a broad definition, highly unreliable at times. "I was human, once. Unaware of the many eyes and ears that watched me from the shadows. It wasn't until a day that I became a Werewolf's snack did my eyes open to this view of Duskburg. And I will say this, when you forget what exists out of sight as you watch over the people and their blood red pulsing hearts, you begin to see a beautiful world ruled only by delicacies of ones imaginings."
And if she listened closely, it was like the heart beat of millions sang in tune, giving the impression of a lively world, flowing and thriving with blood.
As she let her senses take over, her eyes glittered red, her fangs grew large and Belle could see countless eyes look at her from the shadows. Janice had unwillingly used her master's gift over the domain of the shadow, unaware that she actually did, because her attention had been cast over all of Duskburg, because despite sitting on the church's roof, with her feet down over the edge and hands clutching the roof behind her, her being at present could be felt from across Duskburg, in the skies, in the sewers and in the deepest corners of the houses.
Perhaps Janice was to feel sympathy or understand being human, her being so young, but the bloodlust is far too strong and it had long since stripped all humanity from her. So she did not.