[Noa folds both hands in her lap, and the soft grinding of her metal arm's parts stills with her. Her flesh fingers run over the other hand's metal joints. She's quiet for a long moment, contemplating this. She could say much about goddesses and lack thereof, of regret and suffering and their absence, things that would not help if she were even trying to. Certainly, though, she hasn't died. Not scurrying down cobbled market streets, certainly not without remembering a moment of it. Dimitri can be a ghost all he wants, she supposes, but she's not about to get dragged into it.]
I think, [she finally decides on, in an airy, casual sort of way,] you are probably just crazy.
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I think, [she finally decides on, in an airy, casual sort of way,] you are probably just crazy.
[HORRIBLE BASTARD CHILD]