Her head tilts to the side, slowly, when he shivers. It's hard for her not to eye his arm, because it's fascinating to watch. But she's thankfully distracted by shifting her grip on her box, shrugging her shoulders almost hesitantly at his question.

"I'm... okay," Ellever tells him, just as quiet as she was before. "I don't normally—" Say that kind of thing out loud. "—think of myself that way. I guess it's just... this place, and dying, and all that good stuff."

She's half a Thing. That's how she looks at it. But the dominant half is her human half, thankfully, and that's not a Thing. She spent more than a week or two in more middle grey area than she'd like; it's starting to seep in. Her cousins spend far more time in that Other part of their brains, and that's plenty of an argument against her doing the same thing.

"But they're right," Ellever goes on, finally looking back up, "you're not a thing."