[It's good luck people have slipped things under his door often enough he's thought to train the Comtesse to collect them for a treat later--rather than try her teeth on them for immediate dissatisfaction. So when he takes up the sending crystal at its soft chime and hears her voice--hears her saying she'd left him something--he knows immediately where to search for it.

A fragment of honeycomb with culled drone brood makes a fair trade for her latest acquisition; she settles into to pull larvae from their cells as Myr runs careful fingers over the embroidery and listens to Araceli's message. The feel of wings and a hive in their midst brings a smile to his face, even as something about her tone, about the words tempers it to something sadder.]

It's quite clear to the hand, Serah Bonaventura--thank you; it's a lovely thoughtful gift. And I'm--glad, that what we'd spoken of was a help; I can't imagine... [A mage's status as something less than in the south was well-established, a background noise constant as breathing that he nevertheless refused. But to be there as one's personhood was debated, defined, negotiated--] --how hard it must have been.

Thank you, again--for all you've accomplished. [A faint smile colors his tone:] You're one of the first I've talked to about all of that; it's not something the Chantry'd be glad to hear, especially not out of a mage.