"No, it's...it's still there. I'm sure it's just this room." she visibly shrinks, seeing how her obvious despair had caused her powers to reflect that.

An icy butterfly crawls across the ceiling, helping bring out the softness of the ballroom they were cornered in. Clearing her throat, she offers him her hands, a small effort to make peace physically/symbolically, and...well. Of course, to lead him into the next room.

"It happens. It's always been that way. Probably always will be." she murmurs, rather sheepish about her flaw. "It won't make for arguments in a happy home, I'm sure." Understatement of the year.