It's not unusual for her dreams to take a sharp turn for the surreal (what in the carthaginian hell is 'shall I be mother' supposed to mean, anyway? for a horrifying nanosecond she's worried he's just going to morph into Sadie Seddon right in front of her and the real nightmare will begin), but baffling phrases aside, she's still starting to reel a bit at the sudden turn things have taken for the domestic. She reaches for the ludicrously ornate teacup and suppresses a rising bubble of hysterical laughter at how flash it is. What is even happening anymore?

"Um. No, thank you," she says, her voice unsteady once again, though now it isn't tears she's on the verge of. She can't imagine focusing on a book right now, not even one of her standard comfort novels, but that isn't really why she's refusing. She just can't handle the gear shift from 'facing down your greatest foe' to 'have some tea and read a goddamn book.'

Clearing her throat in a resolute attempt to not crack up (in more ways than one), she tries for something close enough to the truth to appease him, but not so honest that she'll offend him. "I have an affinity for sunlight. If I've been through something… difficult, or upsetting… it's most helpful to just," she gestures to the arched, glass ceiling above them with her teacup-free hand, "soak. And I can get a bit, uh… single-minded about it," she adds with a trace of an apology.