These poor children. This limited contact she's allowed has shot fresh sensation into a raw wound. Whether that's useful pressure or just pushing into it, well. That all depends. The pain of that contact roils outwards either way.

It feels, in a way she would rather not let on, really good. Need can't hurt, can't be hurt like that anymore, and a bit of her covets the pain of a heart that can break, the pain that she was 'born' into when she caught her soul into the sword. She keeps an eye on that craving, doesn't let it get out of hand or express it.

:Yes, you're holding my focus. I can explain it, but I don't know what you know and how much I can make it sensible without taking three hours to make it about myself,: she says. Her voice has something in it of cracked gravel and banked heat, and a wry sense of humor. :But you might want to know, that person with the long literary name - oh, that doesn't narrow it down at all, does it? the one guarding you - is on their way back and about to peek in to make sure you haven't got up to anything while they were out.:

This is a test. Need wants to see how Camilla will respond - if she'll trust the voice in her head this little bit, what she'll do. She's pretty sure being seen will raise a lot of questions and can hide herself from view perfectly well in several different ways, if it comes to it.