Iman is sneezing again. Greta spares her a glance, bewildered and irritated on her behalf, but her gaze is drawn inexorably back to the Witch. Something twists inside her at the mention of her husband - The Witch saw them, she was just with them, and the injustice of it all could make her weep. No tears come. She feels frozen, rigid and chilled by the--the blatant, terrible lie, and the horrible implications behind the Witch's words.

She wants to beg for more information. She needs to know everything. She wishes for a less pitiless source. It could have been anyone; why did it have to be her?

"I'm not dead," she insists, trembling beneath Iman's hand. What cruel nonsense. "I'm in a different universe, I'm not--I'm not dead." She makes a sound that might have aspired to be a derisive laugh, but comes out closer to a cough, or a sob. She fell, yes, but she landed safely, she was fine, just tragically far from home.