She's been thinking about the clothing since she arrived. Not the colour, the colours seemed before now to be random, unimportant. But that her nightdress was gone. That she'd been placed in strange clothes, strange undergarments, that fit. She's thought on it, and what it all means and what it implies, because she can't not think about it. They don't live in a fairytale, where clothes can be changed with a click of their fingers. They aren't captured by the Aos Sí, and their clothes aren't illusions.

It's one reason - the main one, besides practicality - as to why she's been making her clothes. It's the main reason why she's been making clothes not unlike what she'd wear at home, as close as she can. One of the reasons why she's making a corset.

All so she can put herself together.

She doesn't say that. Not any of it. She just sits there, in her red scrubs blouse because her others are drying, and in a brown tablecloth skirt, with her hands folded in her lap. Dirty hands. She'd been scrubbing the floor of this room before the meeting. She knows scrubbing floors. And it doesn't make her shriek with the violation of what's been done to her, to them all.

Instead, she clears her throat.

"Divide and conquer. It's fairly straight-forward, innit? But the colours might not actually mean anythin'. Our captors just might think they do. Don't mean it's true."

She's thinking of the men with rulers and scales, measuring skulls and calling her brother a monster because of the shape of his head.

Learned men can be cruel. It doesn't make their conclusions or assumptions right, and she doesn't want people here starting to assume that their captors are right about anything.