[ Cool, they can each goggle at the forest floor, Geralt dizzy and Paloma blinder than a rabid dog. The tears are fucking freezing on her cheeks and nostrils and mouth; she must’ve forgotten the warming charm keeping her unnatural body at a more natural temperature.

She can’t say a word against that. That part is no business of hers, and she would injure them both trying to pursue it. Her finger-claws spasm in the air at her sides. ]

What if it, uhhm– [ Dead lungs need to inflate for speech and to cry with stuttering desperation. This is futility and she knows it on some level. ] if you had one, but not the same way? I would, in a heartbeat. You- you wouldn’t have to keep it, though I would like to, you could, you know, until you have a better solution...