The caveats never come, not for Emilia.

The silence rest between them, uneasy though it sits. She does not run from this, unease nor confrontation. It's time for the dough to rest too, and she lets it. Lets him set the pace of this conversation.

When he speaks, it's hard not to flash back to their time in that clocktower. The grey of a frozen wasteland, and the words of a woman Emilia still doesn't know what to think of. Like father like son, always keeping things to yourself. Doing things your own way. How many more lives will you risk, Wrathion?

"Is that what ... Alexstrasza meant?"

She thinks that was the name he called her.