Matilda purses her lips, eyeing The Wizard’s plate critically. Eating yourself isn’t any better! But there’s no point in arguing with her about it, and she doesn’t know enough about all of the years to acknowledge the symbolism. It’s probably for the best— any reminder that her mortality’s on the line can only be met with loud screeching.

“What would you call them? Either way, isn’t it... sad for you? That we hurt them?”