[ He's not wrong. There are only two reasons she knew to look at all, with the first being that, through this day of wildly fluctuating intensity, she's nevertheless run into people suited to combat nine out of ten times; Cerealia just seems to attract authority types. No doubt about it. ]

Was it hard? No. That's a foolish question. Forget it. Ah– [ Clearing her voice, leaning forward towards him. ] Is it any easier being... being prepared for something like this? Is that why you're so - brave?

[ The second reason she knows to ask is that she's an artist and she's learned to pay attention, fixing on minutia and nuance. Things like hands and hunches, flinches, scars, and nibbling at lips. Her own hands are perfect, as is the skin everywhere on her body thanks to the healing touch of hair upon her head.

But rather than a blessing, their smoothness is a curse: she's held bleeding hands over bloody paintbrushes one too many times. ]

...Maybe that's a foolish thing to say too.