"Something interesting happens when a mortal dies, and I don't have any reason to think it isn't their minds passing on to wherever it is mortals go. But no one knows where that is or what it's like there."

"Yeah...and that's concerning. Well. Maybe I can figure something out later."

"Figure something out? Such as what?"

"I mean the obvious thing to do would be to travel to your plane and try casting Speak With Dead."

"If returning there is possible. Although, if returning there is possible, it would be most convenient to do it either very soon or never."

"Well, Plane Shift is a spell, but it's not one I happen to have even if I did have my spellbook. On the other hand, that's a fixable problem. I'm not sure how fast, though, and it would require trusting me to cast the spell in the first place."

"Hmm."

She looks consideringly at Elodea.

"How urgently do we need to test my ability to extract languages from you?"

"Well I am getting really tired of being stuck to the ground like this and my translation spell's going to run out in--actually I'm not sure it depends on how long I was unconscious--and I can only cast it once more until I get access to my spellbook again, so sooner seems better than later to me, but I don't know what kind of timeframe you have before it's better not to go back again."

"I might like to experiment now, but I'm concerned that our other guests might be upset." She pets Khesanai some more. He's very pettable.

She switches languages. "Good news: they cannot as far as I can tell do anything to your souls. Bad news: they might end up torturing me because that's how their magic works for some reason and it would be way more convenient for everyone if they spoke Common."

"And you're...okay with this?" Havalya asks dubiously. 

Sigh. "I'm divinely cursed, no I won't tell you how, I don't like it but I'm used to shit like this happening to me."

"...Okay."

"Uh. Is this. Really necessary."

"It is almost certainly better than being chained to the damn ground for a minute more than necessary."

"Okay! Fair!"

"Your choice, I guess."

Back to the Endarkened tongue: "I've explained, they're not thrilled but they're not going to throw a fit."

"All right. Just a moment, then."

She pets Khesanai and kisses his forehead and disentangles herself from him and smooths out her dress and picks up a rock from the ground and hands it to Sovarith.

The rock shifts gradually in shape and colour until it's a black glass knife, short and sharp. He hands it back to her.

This is probably magically important and thus Not To Be Interrupted but Havalya makes a mental note for later that a random rock getting turned into an obsidian knife is, apparently, hot. 

As soon as he's finished transforming the rock, he goes back to snuggling Havalya.

Oh good. She snuggles him back delightedly.

And Nesifra approaches Elodea with the knife, muttering to herself about magical theory.

"Language—first station—the heart yields the mind—" She pulls down the blanket to reveal Elodea's chest and abdomen. "This is going to hurt quite a bit," she warns, and starts opening quick cuts along Elodea's shoulders and ribs, in some sort of elaborate pattern whose purpose is not clear.

The knife is sharp enough that although there is a lot of blood, it doesn't actually hurt all that much until half a minute later when she cracks open Elodea's chest, digs in her fingers, pulls the ribcage apart, cuts out her heart, and eats it.

She endures the cuts with few hissed intakes of breath, the opening of her chest with gritted teeth, and when Nesifra digs in and yanks her heart out she arches backwards and lets out a short, sharp shriek.

She collapses, and for a moment she looks like the corpse of any other woman who'd just had her heart torn out. And then her eyes fly open, her heart begins growing back, and her chest snaps closed and all her wounds seal.