The almost-nakedness of her top-half ceases its itching around the same time he agrees with her that snoring would be terrible. That’s good; she likes that. Both the non-itching and that they are on the same page. She thinks she will only tolerate snoring from Paul now, or perhaps John, at a push. Certainly not from a stranger.

Her attention shifts to her shoes with him. She kicks her legs out to examine the tattered leather, the faded embroidery and the pulled out stitchings. She beams, very pleased. “Oh, yes! I thought so too. They look very old, don’t they? Like someone has loved them for a long time. Sometimes people forget to love old things, so I suppose I’ll love these shoes until all the stitching comes out.” Her legs swing back down, and Alecto, curious, eyes the mess of Helios’s flesh.

It takes her a moment to smell the rot. It’s a different rot than the rot from home, but necromantic rot is still rot and her faces does something odd, like she’s frowning and trying hard to be polite about it. “You’re a zombie,” she says, after a long moment. “A different kind. Not as neat. Someone’s drawn all over you to keep you moving.”

She blinks, once. Then, adds: “If you manage to snore in that state I’ll actually be very impressed!”