"I keep well enough," Benevenuta demurs. Hercules' loss and its impact on her - that's a conversation for another day. She isn't sure that other day will ever come, particularly, but there's little she wishes to say on it that seems productive, and. What is she, if not productive?

Work is soothing. She finds herself again, in work.

"Though I can't imagine I'd lost any, eating Orlesian food."