[There's a soft laugh as Alia scrunches her nose, then nuzzles it to Lauralae's, the quiet, sweet affection of two beasts, signaling to each other I am safe, I am calm, I am sweet. She forgets her paints for the moment, scoots closer, tucking her chest to Lauralae's back, arms sliding around her waist.]

It is. And it is no more than you deserve, for whoever has earned your wrath. [For despite the other's belief in her own wickedness, her own lack of goodness, Alia refuses to believe it. Lauralae is forgiving, too much so, sometimes. If she's been harmed enough to wish death on someone, he must be deserving of it.

Tucking her chin over the other girl's shoulder, Alia hugs her a bit closer, chuckling low in her throat.] Not even enough to feed to the worms, we'd say. His moisture shall return to the earth.