[ Don't mind her as her steps wobble a bit as they turn, her free hand flinching at her side this way and that to try to keep balance. The way one does when they just start slip when ice skating. Mercifully, it doesn't escalate past that. Though it does look goofy.

Perhaps it's a good thing that she's out of sorts with the balancing act — otherwise, his words might bring her mood down to something more contemplative and melancholic. Typically, others' suffering barely scratches the surface of the shell around her soul, protecting her from needing to feel empathy, or worse, to get attached, but his tales pierce through, and resonate with her more often than not. ]

With some, yes. With others, ah— [ She's interrupted by her own lack of balance, the sound of surprise sharp and clumsy and foreign on her tongue, distracting her from her own bitterness over the subject at hand. Her words grow a bit tighter, nonetheless. ] Well, there are marks left upon it that, perhaps, shall never fade...

[ On her dignity, she means. She doesn't say it to correct him, but rather to commiserate — as he says, it's not a competition. Perhaps seemingly out of left field, even if it's very relevant to the topic at hand in her own mind: ]

I admire you, you know, Astarion.