Lenore yelps at the rougher grip, half a moan but with a little bit of a wince. Still, there's no criticism in it, not even a complaint. "Little rough," she murmurs, but that's only feedback, encouraging Gideon to keep learning.

Her fingers skim down Gideon's sides, nails lengthening a tiny bit in order to scrape but mostly keeping her touch light, barely-there enough to be ticklish.

"Am I just an illusion?" Lenore asks, voice breathy and almost hoarse. "Apt to fade into mist or vanish with the sun?" Both true, one a little more unfortunate than the other.