[She stares at Hierophant, who she can't see but can sense, and tries to imagine what he must look like as the paper begins to fold itself into shapes. She imagines a mass of writhing tentacles like something out of an alien film or a horror movie, wriggling and curling and delicately shaping a square of patterned paper into a crane.

She finds herself identifying with the process, strangely. The visible paper twisting into a discernible shape because of invisible forces working to put it that way. She's the crane. Her will and her training are the tentacles moving around like curious snakes or prehensile vines.]

Someone killed my father and wrapped his corpse in a box and left it for me to find as a present.

[It's like she doesn't even notice the tone whiplash. He was just talking about paper cranes.]

I didn't know it would bother me. Please tell him I'm sorry I scared him. What a stupid thing to make a fuss over.