Okay. Keep your heart rate down, Marillë. Yes, this is the Prince Curufinwe. Yes, he's the most genius Elf in all Aman. But he liked your paper, he asked you to be here. There's nothing to be nervous about.
She knocks on the door.
Okay. Keep your heart rate down, Marillë. Yes, this is the Prince Curufinwe. Yes, he's the most genius Elf in all Aman. But he liked your paper, he asked you to be here. There's nothing to be nervous about.
She knocks on the door.
Well, yeah, but--I'm inclined to guess that that's just because other people don't happen to be like that, not that his--selfness--has some kind of "uniqueness" inherent trait?
Yeah.
But, like, that didn't happen to Curufinwe. And he's--probably a happier person than your dad, but--
So who knows.
I wish him skill finding a wife who also wants seven kids, though.
It is! I could probably be good at that if I really tried, I just--
I'd rather be good at making something. Less--hobnobbing with specific other smart people, more--still being useful no matter where you go.
Maybe it's petty to be so picky, but...
Yeah.
And, you know, in the meantime I'm learning things like embroidery. Speaking of which, the hot pink lace is actually quite fetching, I'm not sure if I ever thanked you for that.
So much longer lasting than glitter as a prettiness-enhancing solution.