A voice. It was muffled from the ringing in her ears but it was feminine and getting closer. She gave herself a few thumps with her fingers on the back of her skull. Unsure of the how of it, she knew that such action helped clear up the ringing at least for a little while.
"Sweet of you, lass," the Irish woman managed softly as she worked through the pain and the quieting sobs, "I'm not frightened. My head hurts... Adjusting to--" she didn't know how to phrase it so she decided to just offer, "Cassandra Trelawney. The year of our Lord, 1908."
That would answer a lot of questions and likely raise even more but she wasn't ready to offer more. Her head pulsed and she groaned, pressing her palms to her temples. She had never expected that her ability would need to... realign and it would be so very painful.