"Sorceress is still preferred, if only slightly," her mouth curls, a little. Witch is oftentimes tossed too closely like a curse, and while she's no objection to being feared - a little fear is healthy, she would say - she cares little for the accompanying disdain. It tends to set a tone she's little time for, and it matters that he asks.

Her mood lightens a touch further — he doesn't make for terrible company after all. It may take some time still, but she's had enough time dancing around liars and hidden motives - plotted enough of her own - to see the telltale signs of honesty. Difficult to recognize when one is so used to seeing something else.

He disappears, and her curiosity is piqued, quietly taking a sip of tea from a steaming mug and when he returns, she almost spits it out.

"You - what?" She stares, for a moment, violet eyes wide and reaches for the dress with probably the most amount of uncertainty she's displayed thus far.

It's clean, and mended, the place where the arrow had torn through patched neatly; imperfect and real and in all honestly she nearly forgot about the dress as a whole until she'd settled in with Ellie. She rests it on her lap, a little unsure of what to say. "I'm — I hope this wasn't too much trouble?" Is the quiet, genuine response she seems to settle for.