"Then uhm— I got smacked?" Lyra rose a hand to her face, touching her nose gingerly, feeling a little lightheaded as though she'd been smacked again. This truth spun her head a bit. A lot, really, and she only continued to power on through because she'd started, now, and didn't know how to stop.
"Smacked right in the nose with one of them rock-hard troll arms, I think? It's a little blurry— but I had blood all over my hands and when I touched one of them, they screamed. They said it was my blood, and you're going to think I'm delusional— I know you're going to think I'm delusional, but they said I had saint's blood, and it burned them. Which, hah— it was a good distraction?" Her voice was high and thin, still trying in vain to lighten the tone, to stop Rosario looking so utterly, life-alteringly horrified, and to keep herself from feeling so vulnerable. This was the thing she understood the least about everything that happened, the thing she'd put off looking directly at even longer than she'd avoided thinking bout faeries.
Cuz, saint's blood? It still sounded crazy, even to her.