Of course. Perhaps at the theater, yes? Far be it from me to keep you from what you needs must.

[When Psyche reaches for her hand, she takes it, her grip tight as usually. She doesn't squeeze and let go right away but instead holds her firm, letting their fingers lace together.]

After today, you would tell me if you were feeling unwell, weren't you? [She's so...lethargic. None of the jittery, hunted rabbit energy that has characterized her fussing when unable to directly help others before. Perhaps she really has run herself to exhaustion, something that Waltaquin always wondered if she'd see.]