[ it is with a- voyeuristic intentness that he looks her over, that he considers the halo of light that rises off her skin like steam off a cup of tea. he looks to her eyes, seeks out the aura of her fëa, considers all in equal measure, and then asks: ]

What did it feel like, to be torn from him? Celeborn was alive when you left. Was it akin to a hot knife in your heart, or was it more subtle, an utter undoing?

[ he, of course, is still free to probe at the raw edges calenmiril left in her wake- and they are the same as they were a year ago, a decade, two decades, ten, twenty-- ]

Of course.

[ he smiles. ]