[That's a reaction that says things -- for one, that she's not shocked about someone of Stacia's tender years encountering corpses. Either she's been doing the reading on the network, or she's not working from a mindset similar to Stacia's own. Stacia quirks an eyebrow and considers how she wants to play this.]

Over several months. And depending on the argument, I was responsible for six, four, or none of them.

[She'll own to four, and she won't lose a wink of sleep over it.]

[The Stacia who is part of the memory is soaked almost the moment she crawls out of the window. It's clear she doesn't have a lot of experience climbing around on the roof, but she moves with the confidence that she can catch herself if she puts a foot wrong. The power poles and some of the nearby trees are taller than the house, but Stacia still settles below the highest point to avoid any stray lightning bolts. Stacia of the present raises her voice to be heard over the wind and rain and thunder.]

This isn't a particularly exciting memory, I'm afraid. Just me trying to commune with the storm without any real idea of what I'm doing. Certainly nothing as exciting as the dungeons of the King of Hell.

[Past Stacia adds, "all right, Grandfather, I'm listening" in a whisper, which reaches Rowena's ears without a problem since it's part of the memory rather than something to be eavesdropped on.]