Sighing, Gabrielle lowered her wand with the word "nox." No longer having the light source she needed to stare at her pox marks, the girl calmed. "Merci, mon chaton," she said, not entirely believing Fleur but feeling a bit better. Beautiful or not, her nasty skin seemed to be hissing at her through the dark.
"Charlotte and Lucas are bettair for good, oui?" she asked, finally managing to muster up some concern for other people.
While not so upset about the spots anymore, Gabrielle was getting a lot more worried about the sickness as a whole. She had thought about dropping dead perhaps from shame, but did not consider that the disease could actually worsen even without her nervous contributions. "I... I zink I would like to go back to bed zen," Gabrielle said rather abruptly, "to prevent ze dying and such."