She smiled and parroted, "It's somewhat complicated." Tapping off the gathered ash from her cigarette, she shrugged and added, "I miss 'earing French on the street. The smell of fresh croissants the baker down the street made every morning. The monthly riots were fun too."

... So perhaps that last bit had been more sarcastic, but nonetheless she was being quite honest. She missed little things that had made France 'home', but on a whole... She had no family, no friends she could recall, no lovers - no one that would cause that aching desire to return to them. Of course there was the spirit of the city that might still tug at her, but she'd grown used to ignoring it. "It's complicated," she repeated.