Ah, of course, she's sorry. Everyone is always sorry.

"You're right, they don't. Save your apologies. 'Sorry' doesn't bring back the dead."

Does she deserve this? No. He knows that, and his movements become gentler as though in acknowledgment of it, but he doesn't take the words back.

He's silent for a minute, until he's brushed all the knots out of her hair and run his fingers through it carefully. Instead of telling her he's finished, though, he starts separating her hair out into sections.

"What kind of braid do you prefer?" he asks quietly.