There is no immediate reply other than a thoughtful frown, the only sounds from Nyx being the stir and sizzle of cooking. But that crooked shadow is bent in thought, no longer even pretending to mimic her body, chin on its fist like a sculpture...

"It was a gift," she says softly. "Gifts aren't something you earn. They're...signs of sincerity. Talkin' about deserving it or not, that's an insult to the people who gave it to you, same as if a guest said they don't deserve your cooking. If you don't like your gift, fine enough. We give 'em in hope, not expectation."