I wonder why that is. Perhaps they are as a blank canvas, only waiting to be filled with color... [And yet, they're behind a barrier, so she can't be convinced that's the case.] Or perhaps they were planted by another hand.

[Cantarella glances over her shoulder, fingers loosely gathered at her chin. Is she...coloring? Whatever's spilling out of her hands and pencils, it looks colorful and fanciful from afar. Such fancies can be a refuge.]

Are you at ease, noble knight?