It's hard to walk out, somehow. At each step, the temptation to look, to listen, to wonder what Jasper must see in all this rises up, a terrible temptation. She sneaks a few glances, but it's never good; Rose walks, one step, then the other.

Eventually the tunnel of malicious ivy falls away behind her like a cloak and the wan, green-filtered sunlight hits her shoulders. She's never been so grateful to see a star; the open air is so unbearably delicious, and each step is abruptly easier than the last, rather than the opposite. She keeps walking, leading them off until they're well away and out of sight of the damning, tempting, awful mouth of those ugly few minutes.

"Now then," She turns to her fellow Gem, much more at ease, "...You're a Jasper from Earth, aren't you? What you must think of me..."