The look she shoots him is sharp. Bristling, to make up for the sting of some secret cut—turning rapidly past the blank space where the words 'You're not the only person in the room,' could live. She sniffs as she breezes past him to the door. A very small piece of irritation can be hammered out thin and turned into plate.

"Very well. If you're quick about it. Shoo!"

This last is for a pair of intrepid chickens making to follow after her. Wysteria flaps her skirts at them, then forces her way through the door into the dimly lit kitchen beyond.