She really wants to squeal when he speaks of the drowning, but she doesn't want to interrupt his narration, so she compromises with a delighted little squeak. His tale could stand to be a lot more detailed though, but he's probably just out of practice in pleasing her. His memory was never the best for things that aren't poetic, she can sympathize.

"Because it's ink, sweet Zagreus," she explains like that's the most obvious thing in the world. The alliteration isn't entirely clean, but it's still a friendlier gesture than she'd ever grace any other matter creature with. He'd better find comfort in that, because in the next moment she seizes his jaw, thumbing the scar appreciatively. "Ink preserves, ink spreads, ink carries the meaning when the author has long since been drowned. Ink transcends its own nature through the use it's put to." With a smirk, she raises her gaze from the mark to his eyes. "You should feel a kinship, not aversion."