The blood on her fingers is cooling and she looks at the art in front of her. Chalk and paint mixed in lines and shapes. The indigo is bright but dark on her fingertips, standing out against the gray of her hands like a traffic signal, like a warning. She smears it as a figure on the shore, quick little strokes with the very very tips of her fingers to make the person small in the overall picture. The scale is off in places but she doesn't want that to be the focus.

Her gaze lifts to his when he asks her a question and she could answer it with a shrug but it seems like he's done all the talking--maybe to make up for when she did all the reaching. But she wants to at least try.

"I paint to show things that happened mostly. Because I enjoy it and people can understand things better with a picture to go along with it. If you're saying heretical things like--well the spectrum is a circle with no top of bottom, they don't understand until you can show it."

She runs her hand into his paint and darts it out, reds to oranges, skipping from color to color until tyrian lays smashed back up against red and any point of the circle could be the top or the bottom of their worldview.

"Or--just to keep memories alive. I suppose I've done that most of all. Like that--that's the last night I had with all of them."

She gestures at the town, "Before we were caught. Ironic I guess."