Yes! Fuck yes, my wicked sister! It is one of the greatest of miracles, to exchange tale and passion and all feeling we would not otherwise seek to expose. Seen though gruesome and ugly on the outs, we allow ourselves the freedom to express when the thespians take to stage and illustrate all we share. How mother fuckin beautiful it is. My dear matesprit finds similar joy in that. [And that thought of Meulin softens his exuberance. She would relate it to shipping of course, the wonder of romance. And he would pull her near.]

I must seek out a copy of Hamlet, so that I may share with thee. I suspect thou to be unable to read Beforan, but I may recite it's passages to thee, should thee desire it. [He smiles brightly at her.]