"Pride... would that I had none at all. 'Tis a dangerous thing, Eléonore, to find oneself too mired in, and yet without it I fear that some would not uphold honour at all. Pride forces us to do better, even if for our vanity. In excess, though, I fear it loses any element that might have seen it redeemed." Pensive, that, looking Eléonore for a brief moment before returning her gaze to her; the flush of her skin, that freedom in the smile. It was a pleasing thing, to look on such wonders in a person and be aware that you had at least a small part in it. Whimsical yes, and perhaps another example of her pride failing her. "But I thank you. So much that I desire or— strive for relies upon me upholding what it is a knight should be."

It is not a thing generally looked kindly upon, she knows, when so many have been wounded in the name or under the pretence of both duty and honour. Her gaze drops for a few moments, pensive, as she draws her hand away only to brush her hair back behind her ear. A familiar habit, a rare thing that gives her a moment to think before speaking further, and it is only as her hand touches the still tender flesh that she falters. The shell of her ear has been carved, whittled, the uppermost part sliced away diagonally, the lower sliced from lobe and around in a sweeping angle. It does not quite meet the other cut, but the intention of it might be plain enough. Her hand drops back alongside Eléonore's, almost but not quite touching - a break in the spell, or the risk of it.

"Deception can take many shapes. Some of the masks are quite impressive," she adds, a little quiet, not quite so playful in her dryness as she might have been able a moment before.