She was spared scars for the most part; fine hairline scars, callused hands or feet--these were from long ago when she lived amidst a nomadic tribe. Bruises were Viserys' poison, easily hidden and ones which would fade. But the jagged scars on her back? Well, not scars yet, but she knows how these things go, and her wounds had become infected no thanks to the living conditions of the tower. If she clawed at her back any harder, she'd not have freed the wings she hallucinated.

"Dangerous predicament?" Now she looks at him, arching her brows, stopping in place. They've wandered deep enough into the city thus far that the stray civilian walking must circle around them. "And what do you intend to do to me, exactly, that I've not survived already?"

She squeezes his arm, lightly.

"I know that you are a man who believes himself damned. I also know that you are kind, and you are the first friend I've claimed as mine in this place. Is that not reason enough?"