"I'm not sure I can stand," she murmurs in a voice that's hoarse and thick with her own crisp accent. Her fingers brush his and she smiles. "I always enjoyed winter and sweaters, for that matter. That does feel better, thank you." It's a renewal of spirit, so to speak, a quiet revitalisation that leaves her sighing softly in relief.

She gives it a few moments before she opens her weary eyes to glance up at him, her cornflower blue eyes illuminated just a little by dawn's light streaming through the window. Her smile is luminous and there is such joy in it as she reaches out to cup his cheek very gently.

"Well," she says, a little awed, "look at you. Bob, why...you're perfect." He really is. Everything is as it should be, no mistakes, his suit is lovely, the waistcoat is detailed, and he looks very handsome, she thinks. And she can't stop smiling because she had very much sunk everything she had into the ritual, all the effort needed and a little more. She'd even gone to the trouble of working out a magical circulatory system that linked to a heart of sorts so that he could feel a semblance of living, not just spirit existing in ectoplasm and the like.

"I did make a few more alterations," she said in a soft voice. "I...I wanted to make sure you could feel things properly, not just control a body. It had to be right, you know."