What had she expected of him? To feign enthusiasm and then make a quick change of the subject? Perhaps, because the sudden drop of the mask all upper class members usually wore - of politeness and general air of obligatory intrigue - took Philomena by surprise and she found herself smiling shyly. “Ahm - yes, truly,” She replied, though she wasn’t sure she exuded confidence. Indeed she rarely said such a statement with confidence because it was always accompanied with her making an excuse to exit whatever ballroom she was in before someone started looking at her expectantly, as if she would collapse in a dead, dramatic faint and make an equally dramatic Prophecy.

She hoped he wasn’t awaiting something of that nature. Phie looked up at him, searching for any sign of expectations in his expression. After a pause, she continued: “They usually tell me things about the weather. Not exclusively, but themed around plants and their fates; it’s how I was able to help my family build this greenhouse.” She looked around fondly at the lush foliage around them, though she furrowed her brow in worry. “But lately they’ve had more to do with people than the weather or plants. And…” Phie trailed off hesitantly again before taking a breath. “I haven’t been getting them as often anymore.” What was once a burden had become a constant comfort. Even though it wasn’t the most pleasant sensation, Phie had always had visions, and there for at least knew that it was a sign of consistency for her.

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