She was waiting for it - the comment, the quip, the apology or further condolences. But it didn't come, which she was silently thankful for, even with as clumsy as her redirection had been. The less time spent on her late husband, the less likely she was to be put in a position where she had to make a choice as to whether to lie or not. She was a monster; sometimes it was too tiring to keep up the facade of humanity. It was a poor facade anyway.

"Blue would be a better color on you than purple." But it was all she had with her right then. "It would match your facial markings. Give me the other hand and let that one dry. I'll put a second coat on it once I have the first one done on the other."