Idly thinking, she said, as if having oneself immortalized with one's paramour on canvas was just some lightly passing fancy, as if the mere thought of it didn't just send his chest into an aching riot of his heart doing acrobatics against his ribcage. A feeling that was no doubt expressed in the faint grunting quality that his usual sot, thoughtful hum seemed to adopt.

"In certain circles," he answered, "they were; I'm sure you can imagine which ones. But even before the collapse of everything with the Long Night, they were already beginning to fall into an antiquated fashion, just like with here, in the rise and development of photography."

Here, he let out a soft breath of an amused laugh, which surfaced more in his smile than anything, forehead resting against Liliana's. "Ironic, then, that we've a photographer to thank for this one."