The napkin is sodden through by the time she sits and she feels just a touch lightheaded. The ringing in her ears ceased as the memories completed rewriting themselves, but the blood had yet to clot. An interesting problem. Fortunately her own linen handkerchief is spared as Mr. Pleasant brings a stack of paper napkins for her use.

"No need, either I will hemorrhage to death or it will stop, there's not much to be done about it," Rosalind assures him as she primly folds another napkin and presses it beneath her nose. It is not the most dignified way to have a conversation, but she's doing her best. "I expect magic--" this word is said with palpable derision "--is exacerbating the known effects of trans-dimensional travel. Confluence?"

She sighs.

"I have never experienced that before, it is new and unpleasant. If you would remain a moment I would appreciate it? If only to arrange my corpse in a dignified manner should I collapse and perish."