Standing in whatever shadow she can find while keeping an eye on the proceedings, Estelle watches the assembled group, trying to spot Anareesa. She seems perfectly content with waiting, knowing this gnome couldn't carry on forever. But he was still a gnome after all, so...
Watching all these people, these friends and associates, it hit her. She had just killed someone. Sure she had defended herself in the past, even stabbed a couple undead, but not a living, breathing soul. Admittedly it was kill or be killed, that rationale held true, but that did nothing to assuage the guilt she felt. Perhaps there was a newly orphaned child sitting behind the locked door her new key would open. She sighs heavily and slumps back a bit. She's always had urges to kill. Just moments before Rossler challenged her Estelle had an intense urge to plunge a dagger in his throat, but she resisted, much like she always did.
But did she just open the flood gates? She's spilled blood; warm, fresh, flowing blood. And the idea, the visual that replayed in her mind disgusted her and enticed her all the same.
She never did clean the blood of the blade, and so she unsheathed the rapier and stared at the newly congealed red-brown for a moment before wiping on the grass, spitting on the blade if she needed. Whatever she could to get it off, to get it out of her mind.