Her fingertips and her lips are a little startlingly soft. He'd anticipated a bit more chapped harshness - perhaps he's simply so unaccustomed to human skin by this point that anything would feel like a satin caress. He can't help but smile a bit at it.

"It is," he admits ruefully. "I suppose I won't be doing any art or writing poetry soon - the world, no doubt, heaves a sigh of relief at it."