From an early age she senses this makes her strange.

 

It's unnatural, somehow a sin to feel more for the villain, whose presence is manufactured by the writer to root against with ease. Deep down in the marrow of her bone, twitching in her gut, she suspects there may fester the seed of something more sinister. To empathize with beasts where other children know the automatic difference between right and wrong, light and darkness, serpents and lambs, is vile.      So I’ll be vile, she decides.