...She's reminded of Mutatsu, the old monk chomping on his cigar and bellowing for more booze. Of the moments where his whisky glass was topped off and he would glower at her, scolding her for being where she didn't belong - then in the same breath, going on with whatever life advice he felt like rattling off that night.

The smell of the alcohol was pretty strong, even from just being held out towards her.

Despite how Mutatsu always told her to fuck off, don't mess with your youthful looks by drinking, there was no... aversion to it.

After all. She was dead - twice over, in fact. And once she disappeared from this place it would be back to her death.

So... wordlessly, she took the decanter in her hand, before taking a swig.