[ Magic and omen have twisted at her insides throughout the clocktower, squeezing the breath out of her with every rising level. Even when the wind starts to build, her rasping breaths shudder for want, and for a moment that's all she hears when the air itself seems to still. Until he speaks. ]

Then I can hope for the truth. I would always prefer it, no matter the cost.

[ Hasn't she proven that she can bear it?

She flinches at the umbrella, caught in the sight of the blood endlessly falling (she's seen this before), but the air seems to rush back into her lungs after only moments in its presence. Relief. Caution.

Did the spell work, or did the child intervene? Was his protector nearby, out of sight? I've been looking for you. ]

I would like to look upon your face, as well. Why do you hide?