It was, all at once, much like speaking to Booker and not at all like speaking to Booker at the same time. One elaborated in pretty words where the other broke off to keep his regrets behind gruff replies. They stirred a feeling in her breast that she was not entirely sure she could identify. It was something a little queer, hovering between pale whispers of fear and a desire to hear more.

Maybe that was why she took the cup in her hand. Colors danced upon the surface of the liquid, making it seem like the beverage itself was just a pool of light. It had a scent that she could not identify, which also somewhat familiar and yet not at all anything she could place. Carefully, she took a very lady-like sip.

And promptly choked on it.

"Pfffbtbtbt," she sputtered.

Ah. She should have guessed.