Comfort is like cold water, and Petrana straightens where she sits, slightly—now that it's said, she would prefer to...to anything else. She would have preferred none of it be said, that it be consigned to a history that stopped being hers when Thedas remade her. She does not bear the scars of the end of that life, only the memories. It was not her, who died at the foot of that tower—

at night she can still feel the ground rushing up to meet her.

Briskly, far more uncomfortable now than she was a moment ago (when she'd hardly been at ease)— “Yes. And I have work to do, as I'm sure do you. I would thank you not to entertain his shade any further, should he reappear.”