[Wysteria, something of an enthusiast for harrowing thoughts, seems to lean slightly forward where she stands. Like a moth to proverbial flame, there is nothing quite as fascinating as rooting out the cause of a person's outward distress so she might poke it with a stick.]
Oh? No pardons necessary. But you must indulge me, and tell me the details of this terrible conception.
no subject
Oh? No pardons necessary. But you must indulge me, and tell me the details of this terrible conception.