...Well, maybe not all right, exactly, but it's not as though I would've been angry or held it against you afterward.

[Rosella blinked a little more, finally managing to get her eyes to stop tearing, though they still stung a bit.]

Well, onion soup, I suppose. Or we could put them in salad. Or meat. ...Or bury them outside in the snow and vow to never tell a soul what transpired here.