The death knight licks her lips, her own chest rattling with a soft exhale of satisfaction. The tips of her fingers tingle, an urge to pierce damaged skin to find the break in her ribs to pull them free that she only just barely ignores. Instead, the hand she has subconsciously lifted is offered to Asuka to help her to her feet. The tremor in them has lessened -- an obvious, euphoric and calming effect looping back in between the pain the younger girl exhales outward.

"I am afraid you are not my type, Asuka," Seviilia admits calmly. Perhaps if she had gained a few more years under her belt. She does not expect her to take the offered hand, but it would be in poor taste to ignore her.