Psyche smiled gently at him. From where she sat, on the opposite end of the room, she was far enough to allow whoever currently sat on the couch to feel they had their own space without being scrutinized, yet she was close enough to be able to notice the emotions that may (or may not) express themselves in the voice or the face.
"You're not hopeless," she assured him, "though I do have - "
There. Just now. That flash - it came out of nowhere, but for a moment, she couldn't see a thing. Dull pain throbbed at the back of her neck. Psyche resisted the urge to press her hand against her head - instead, she continued as though she hadn't just stopped abruptly.
"What makes it ridiculous, exactly? The behavior itself, or your idea of..."
This time she stopped entirely. She didn't move, she didn't touch her head, which was suddenly spinning with pain, but she couldn't continue, either. Something was...pulling, tearing, eating at her; no migraine in the world could compete with this, but what else could she attribute it to?