Well, she ought not be too disappointed that old methods failed before a new audience, but something about that reproach rubs in the wrong direction. Both eyes open and lifting her head back up, though her hands stay in her lap and her lips blanch white with how tightly she buckles them. And in meeting that transfixing indigo gaze, a shiver runs up her back; then back down again with thunderous footfalls when Sheogorath calls her by name without any introduction, and asks for more.

"Sorry." That sure didn't sound all that apologetic, but gift her one more positive interpretation of surface level emotion. "I'm still learning how to do this."

And she could tap out here. There are some thoughts too precious to share, and those all currently live at the very frontal lobe of her brain; all she's thinking about day and night, ideas she chews more thoroughly than any bite of food. But curiosity had dragged her over here in the first place; had hooked claws into her ribcage and now refused to let go, had killed the cat just to bring it back to kill it and bring it back again. So for once, she doesn't make a swift and graceless exit, even though the little voice in the back of her head urges escape.

"I guess I don't know what constitutes substance anymore. What sort of thoughts do you want to hear?"