Ilya, the worst plague ever and a noose couldn't put you in your grave. And I...

[She laughs, faint and mirthless.]

Well, I'm just not special the way you are, Ilyushka. I-I don't have any healing magic. I don't—

[She rubs at her cheek again, inhaling roughly to choke back a second wave of tears.]

You're... you're not always going to be there to pull me out of the shipwreck, I think we both know that after three years of nothing. So...

[She rubs her arms, as if to warm herself up, or perhaps a comforting self-hug.]

So. Yeah. Might be a thing you need to—brace for, eventually.

[There's no bracing for watching your sibling, your family, your only flesh and blood go limp and lifeless. She doesn't say it outright, but she doesn't need to, she thinks.]

...sorry.