[If there was something still left to make worse, then touch might do it, foreign as it is to her. She does - flinch? - she twitches, anyway, but nothing comes of it, and she doesn't pull away.

With Psyche this close, she might notice that even Waltaquin's heartrate has accelerated, though its pace is confused by what should be exciting it. Is it the memory of that cold fear at being touched, the exhilaration after he was gone? Is it the thrill of seeing Medea, really, not presenting, the way she though she'd caught a glimpse of that night in the kitchen?]

Clever of her. What else is there to do? [No sense in getting worked up about it. There's nothing to fear or worry about here. Her gloved hand slides to Psyche's elbow.]

They sent me back home, after that. Always trying to make their dark secrets disappear.