:Could have been worse. I could have showed you a memory of the academic debates on the topic. Don't assume that because I date back to when steel was an exciting new invention I don't know what science is,: she retorts, with her customary blend of amusement and irritation. Steel probably wasn't actually new when she was alive, she doesn't recall, but she does have a vague recollection of finding horseshoes deeply suspicious.

Good enough! Fiddling about consent still - always - feels a little obnoxious and perfunctory to Need, even if she's on the upswing of trying to take it into account right now. :Let's run an experiment, then.:

Even if she'd been so inclined, it's not as strong or distinct of a feeling as she can convey when to someone actually touching her sword. It's a phantom sensation that might be like someone coming up besides Miguel and putting one arm around his shoulders, as if he isn't in the upper percentile of tall, broad men. It might also be standing close to something large in the dark and the rain, close enough to feel its presence and the water diverted off it, only for it to unfurl a wing overhead and hold it open. A moment of shelter against something quiet and still.

Need savors the proximity of actual grief and pain to her dull, distant awareness. Her lack of feeling is a gift, but it's not how humans were meant to be. They're not supposed to just get over it, like what was lost wasn't important.