[ Both his bow and the straightened stance thereafter register as vaguely militaristic to Ophilia, and the effect earns him a cautious double-look. Combined with the dismal blue light that cloaks all in this chamber, giving his skin a greyish hue, his posture begets a rather ominous result: he appears no different from the eroded statues of long-deceased nobles in the cathedral's crypts.

Chilling, really. This chamber is better than the last, but it is no less ominous. ]

The same as you, only a day. [ She answers at last, turning her head. Ophilia inquires no further about his scars. Not that she is curious, but rather, she knows better than to ask. Bringing up old wounds is not what someone does at the first meeting, and even when she does tend to veterans, such topics are only spoken with the utmost respect and caution. Him linking his hands behind his back gives away that he'd rather not. Naturally, she will respect that.

Thus, she obliges his deflection without any hesitance, continuing to walk through the chamber. ]

I... must admit, this world is a fair bit different from my own. Up to and including this exhibit. [ The chamber around them is empty, but as they progress, even the echos of their footsteps seem to cease as if the background itself progressively absorbs any sound. ] ...Although I suppose art is supposed to evoke emotions.

[ Unsettling ones, apparently. ]