[ Claire watches while holding her breath, her reflection quite clearly enamored and leaning inas close as she can, familiar and tender. The times Jamie stopped what he was doing to simply be with her were so far and few between. She felt alone most of her pregnancy, only being fussed over by Louise at times, and sometimes Murtagh or the house staff. But Jamie was always gone playing politics, returning home as the sun rose, smelling of cheap perfume from the brothels the prince frequented. With nothing more than a fond pat, he would be gone again, off to do business.

It would have been nice, as she watches the two reflections share this moment, to have had anything similar to it. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, Sylvain's comment makes her laugh hoarsely, though there's no amusement behind it. ]

You aren't wrong. [ Her eyes open and she looks over at Sylvain, a slight shimmer of held-back emotion making her eyes shine before she blinks it away. ] I don't think our hosts meant to, but this is well and truly fucked. And yet I keep—I keep looking, as if I might have some sort of epiphany.