A faint golden corona springs into being around her, and she rises gracefully from her seat and moves around the table to him.

"In the world where I was born, this sort of thing served a different purpose," she murmurs, as she places her fingers at his temples.

"But worlds and times here are far, far different, and I choose to believe that every small nuance of choice matters, sometimes more than anything else."

As she speaks, bright silver threads of Spirit, shaded with blue, begin to wash through him like a waterfall, cleansing exhaustion.