There isn't any other crate available, at least not any that doesn't have other things stacked on top, so he sidles over to give Lilja some space to sit with him, mulling over her words.

Terrifying, is it?

His gaze falls to his hand atop his grimoire, the wings faded. Lilja might not be a Garlean, but it serves as a reminder that magic is not a plain fact of life for her. He hopes she never has the misfortune to see more of his spells.

"I am fortunate indeed, then." It's easy to lose the lingering pull of desire when his thoughts are occupied by the nature of his magic, magic designed to slay, not salve. He lets out a quiet sigh. "Were healing my field of expertise, I needn't have taken from you. Still, magic cannot fix all injuries."

His blind eye, for example.

He glances over to Lilja. "How do you feel? It was not overly taxing, I hope?"