She can't help the way color drains from her face to see it, and as the coppery scent slips in past the notes of her own tea, her stomach starts to clench. Already, the want to flee bubbles up in her. Flee, scream, cry...all worthless things, yet nature insists for some reason.

"...None...none of the faucets I tried yielded even a hint of red," she utters, trying to keep the fearful waver out of her voice.