[ It all comes out in a torrent, and Arthur realizes that Sprezzatura is a woman drowning, clinging onto anything and everything that has the slightest chance of keeping her afloat. Even those things made of lead, the ones that hinder more than they help.

His hand comes to the side of her face, thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. She can cry, if she needs to. ]

Then perhaps... you do not need to be a Scribe. With or without the title, you're still Sprezzatura. Still utterly brilliant, still the fiercest, most beautiful woman I know. These things that were taken from you, that were burned away, are not things to hold tight to. Stand atop them, and climb higher.