"It's not that there's no truth in archetypes," she postulates with the faintest tilt of her head, knife pausing just a moment to adjust the angle before she plunges into the pumpkin again. "There is. And it's not unlikely that there's influence to being given a single overarching assignation while you're here."

And then the knife pauses again--but this time so she can properly glance up at him.

"...I don't suppose you've got cocoa, do you?"

Who says she can't be a child in her own way.