Her chin falls flat on top of her knees as a jade flush slowly overtakes her entire face, going as far as her fingertips. Piles and feelings and failure and paleness and intimacy -- she doesn't want to comprehend the potential implication. Everything is telling her to reach out and go for the official designation she's felt obligated to lay down for so long, but she... doesn't want to. And can't. Why? (An Indian summer in the middle of the winter.)

"I know she's a filthy, unapologetic liar through and through--" and the contemptuous spitting out of a pronoun without antecedent is falling into the ashen patterns established with Eridan. "She kisses people without regard for emotional positivity all she likes but repeatedly denies caliginous emotions are even possible for her species. It's a complicated relic of mammalian evolution as far as I can tell, but I still don't know why."