Terribly strange to her her name in that voice. Terribly strange to see the barest flickers of who Herian used to be behind the furious mask of who she is. Again she berates herself for not remaining. For not waiting outside the tower for those that were yet within and might have had need of her and her skills. It will not be the last time this weighs upon her.

It is a burden she does not quite know how to set aside.

Compassion's power ebbs and flows, settling in deep and fading once the healing is complete. Not a scar. Not a hint of injury for all that her robes are charred and burnt. She prides herself on this skill, on this precision- but the juxtaposition between smooth skin and ragged cloth twists something in her gut she cannot put a name to. "She must be talented indeed- Love rarely speaks to mages. It is rarer still that they partner with any. She must be a remarkable woman."