When Lakshmi looks up - she looks, not regal, nor old, nor powerful, or even that flat stare of determination she often fixed when nothing else was easier. This was... quiet. Her. Nothing else. Tired, perhaps, but - simpler than that. Her that was just a woman and nothing else.

It means so much that Magni... would. That Magni would bother to do such things, and the affection she feels moves over tenfold. But she sighs, "I... would not where to begin. It is hard. They destroyed everything, and what was left I had to walk away... I lost the paintings of my husband, my son and I. I lost..."

Everything is too simple a word, but it is the one that hangs. Her eyes fall again, moving to take another bit of food in little movements.