[ When she hears the doors swing open, it takes more of her self control than she'd like not to flinch. She doesn't turn to look at him as she usually does - the Saintess keeps her gaze fixed low on her hands folded neatly in her lap, her spine straight, her posture perfect. It's a little eerie, just how perfectly composed she is - and how obvious her fear is.

When she speaks, her voice somehow does not shake. ]

... Good evening. I... wasn't sure if you still required my presence tonight. But I didn't want you to think I'd abandoned my duties, so... if you'd prefer, I can find somewhere else to sleep.

[ Her voice is quiet, respectful. She sounds every bit the humble, contrite servant she's striving so hard to be. And the worst part is, even though it's exactly what the Saintess should have been all along... a return to this old pattern still stings, somehow. ]