[The urge to say something is so strong it's almost painful; it feels like a tightness in her chest, as though it's taking all her strength to keep the secret inside. She wants so badly to explain everything, to pour it all out and fret over every last detail and then in the end have her confidante nod and smile and pull her into a hug and assure her that nothing is wrong, and no one is going to hurt her, and it will all work out in the end. But the person that would normally fill that role is currently off at Princeton, or saving the world again, or running around with cars that talk and transform into giants--and decidedly not here. And no amount of wishing will make it so.

And then there's the problem of confiding in general, since saying something might very well drag someone else into this whole mess, and the last thing she wants is for more people to get hurt because of her. Some poor man died to provide that heart for her doorstep; some poor king died to bring her safely back to the surface. And she can't stand it, can't stand a bit of it, and is reaching her wit's end as to what to do.

So she busies herself with retrieving the pillows from where she left them earlier, grabbing at a handful of the soft, well-worn fabric and walking backwards as she drags them into the den--which gives her a chance to glance up at Claire and smile in a way that she hopes is reassuring.]

Oh, I'm fine. I just-- [had a terrible scare] --I don't much like this curse, you know. All the trouble and the secret admirers and all that. It always causes so much trouble, and people always end up getting hurt. [A pause.] Their feelings, I mean--end up getting hurt. But I think a nice fairy tale is just what I need to take my mind off things! And this sounds like a marvelous one, too. I think I'll like it very much.