The stem of the rose snaps and tears in her grip in her hurry to turn and see the owner of the voice, peripheral vision not at it's best thanks to the bandaging. Not that she should have really doubted who it is, but when one has suffered from countless visions a week earlier, it's understandable to occasionally doubt reality. Although she already had, hadn't she? Hadn't they both?

What hope and relief that managed to shine in her eye is quickly stamped out, even bright anger nonexistence, instead replaced with cold walls. Her lips purse, and then she looks back down and away to the ruined stem. Gripping the rose with her hand, she forcefully rips it free, then calmly works about nestling it within the design along the back, using the other flowers to keep it in place.

"You no longer seem as tall, either."