[now set free to waver on her own, Cecelia brings her hands to her face, fussing at hair for lack of things for them to do.

peppered with a scoff:] Such hyperbole...! Enough, you've praised my existence enough, thank you. Spare the rest until I've done something commendable beyond breathing, I beg you.

[she presses the back of a hand against her cheek, finding no relief from the warmth. gads. embarrassing.]

Who was it, again? Did you say? Who you were screaming at moments ago.