He could see her anger, the barely contained emotions bubbling up as clear as a beacon, in every line of her body, every movement and breath. He had no idea how he'd thought that the discussion of his death would go, but he'd been certain that he'd be the one telling her. Since that last conversation about his past, though, he'd done his best to avoid the subject. And now here was the dreaded moment. He found himself strangely calm. It was not dissimilar to how he'd felt in that ruined cathedral, in fact; all the worrying and hand-wringing was done with, and the aftermath wasn't anything that he couldn't handle.
What he was more concerned about was Beauty's reaction. She was so upset, despite him being here in front of her, safe and sound. Her worrying about him felt wrong. He placed one hand on one of hers, trying to comfort her. "I don't remember that time," he said, his voice steady. "I may as well have been asleep. A particularly deep and inconveniently long sleep." He smiled a little, trying to make her smile, too.