Oh, goodness, there are two more. She hadn't seen one behind the other. But three cats doesn't seem too excessive, as long as Marius is happy to care for them. It's not as if they're too big for the apartment, and while very few buildings in Darrow seem to have pests of any kind, it's probably helpful to have a few little hunters around to deal with any bugs or spiders that might get in.

Besides, it sounds like Poly was an unexpected addition. She can't blame Marius for taking in a vanished friend's cat.

Greta straightens, then slides into one of the dining room chairs. Without the immediate distraction of the cats, she remembers why she's really here, and her stomach turns over. She doesn't think she can bear food just yet -- not while her story is still this lurking, unspoken thing. But she draws her cup of tea close, letting the mug warm her fingers while she waits for it to cool enough for drinking.

He'd looked so pained, even just mentioning his absent friend. How is he going to look after she tells him what she's learned about herself? It's like those hypotheticals about attending your own funeral, which are easier to entertain when your death is hypothetical, too. Hers is certain, and the fact that it's already happened, and she's still standing, doesn't really make it easier to bear. It just makes it something she has to bear.

"Sorry, I'm... out of sorts," she says, keeping her voice steady and her eyes fixed on her cup. "I, er. Had some bad news." The last four words come out in a rush, with an edge of humorless laughter at what a colossal understatement that is. "But I don't want to--to burden people with it."