[Her fingers, which had been swirling circles and nonsensical patterns around his leg, stills at his words. She doesn't move or way anything for a moment, lips pursed as she thinks the words over. Slowly her gaze lifts, her head titling to look up at him.

Expression grim, she echoes him quietly:] It will not be enough. [An agreement, if a resigned one. He wouldn't even let her lie to herself, it seemed, and she's not sure if she should smile or be angry.

She goes for a smile, albeit a bitter one, and her hand lifts to his face and the scars there. She doesn't touch him directly yet, waiting for some sign of permission that it's okay, but her gaze is steady on him all the same.]

They can not stop me from being 'me.' I am Oona. I am a mermaid. Legs, or not, that will not change. [Her her tilts slightly, inquisitive.] It is the same for you, you know.