As it should be, There was no place in the world she wants for someone like Bolton. Not when they happily caused such harm to others.

Her palms sweep across scars and intact skin alike, never hesitating, though her touch does seem to gentle somewhat over the puckered skin. If it'd been months ago, she'd likely have been too wary of touching those scars, for worry of them bothering him. Now, in her eyes, at least, they're like any other part of him.

"They attacked me with miniature arrows that put me to sleep." Her eyes momentarily close as his hands sweep along her back. Then she's looking up at him again. The water patters around them, the steam like a warm hug. Soft, gentle, she says: "I know."

She might not've thought it before, until he said it. But now that he has, she knows.