[ She sits, waits for him to speak, unconsciously trying to brace herself for the context she'd requested, remaining silent, as he goes into the details.

Her brow creases. She... can't remember. She knows the shape of this memory, though not from her own experience of it, but the feeling it stirs is there, the ache for a lost time, riddled with complication. She shakes her head slightly, with a soft exhale. ]

... Lotor.

[ Which doesn't answer his question, and is likely disconcerting enough to hear from anyone, especially one who's said so little otherwise, but the weight of it is there. Hard to know how much to trust him with, when all was said and done. ]

I am grateful that the vision you have received of my husband was... from as he had been, back then. The both of us.