[ he does have a point. ought isn't a certain response. elsa sounds surer of her own flavor preferences than she does her own well-being. she frowns at the cream mixed into the rich brownness of her drink and for a brief second, the taste in her mouth goes sour. ]

I'd fallen from a faulty ladder. So they say. [ she rubs her temples with both hands and straightens in her seat, leaning against the low back of the stool. ] Nothing to worry about, nothing to worry about. Except I've very few answers. It seems as if I am not alone in this —

[ her voice, without realizing, has dropped to a whisper meant for his ears only. ] Forgive me. [ her hand presses against the counterspace between them, nails unpainted and skin unadorned. she nearly reaches for his shoulder instead but that seems like a bit too much. ] I must know you, but, ah. My poor mind.