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Well, he had certainly solved the problem of her poor vision very quickly and efficiently in this instance. This was not exactly what Mildred had intended by divulging that particular secret - far from it, in fact - but she had to admit that he had responded in an extraordinarily proactive manner.

She swallowed hard, and at his current distance (or lack thereof) it was easy to hear the tremble of her breath. Her lips parted, and it looked as though she'd planned for words to come out, but none came.

Only after they were pressed closed again did she make a sound: a muffled whimper as her eyes stared into his, easily mirroring and multiplying every ounce of curiosity in his.

This was tremendously confusing. She had a perfectly-formed answer for him, something she felt confident in saying, but it wouldn't come out. It felt a lot like it had grown claws that were now hooked within her chest, pulling at the flesh within her. That didn't feel right; it didn't feel like that was something that might typically happen. Not when she was so sure about what she was trying to say, at least.

With visible difficulty, she nodded just once, then closed her eyes so tightly that she began to see little stars in the corners of the self-imposed darkness.

"But. Do you see...me," she forced out, so tiny and quiet that he would have to really be listening to hear her.