[ She finds herself in a dilemma. How do you explain to someone that you're the last of an ancient race with magical powers? Aerith hums, thoughtful but distant. It's a nice sentiment, and from experience, she knows this is true. Every word Emily has spoken rings true in her mind— flashes of her life in the slums bubble over, like a pot forgotten on the stove. ]

Yeah...

[ Emily is sweet. Sweeter than sweet, in fact. Downright motherly. ]

It's probably a long way off. [ She speaks, eventually. ] For now, delivery will have to do. After that, maybe a flower garden in Tamamo? One of the government ones, of course. Me, I'll always figure it out. What about you, Emily? You don't perform for a living by choice.

[ She can tell. Something about it twists in her gut when she watches. A shard of truth, perhaps, betraying them both. ]