[Admittedly, Lucretia has always enjoyed art. There are places where words fail, areas where showing someone a sketch clears up everything. But in the end, her words have always been the thing that serves her most. Words have choice, and intent, and the push and pull of them has been what she makes into her life. Words are her art, and to make Lucretia lost for them is a feat.

A feat that, like much else, Lup has accomplished better than anyone else.

For someone who has so much to say, so many ways she could say it, Lup always seems to stun her into a silence that still managed to feel so warm.

Lucretia doesn't want to let go of Lup's hand ever again.]

Well, it would be awfully hard for me to paint you if you were watching me.

[Maybe she's more eagar on this than previously thought. Or maybe she's just keeping the joke.]

We could take a detour through an empty room to get some supplies. Though you know I always have my pen and a journal on hand.