"That dwarfess who worked in your offices? Marelle?"
"Yes, her. She is old."
Kalliope's brow wrinkled. "Old? Everyone grows old. Lost youth is lamentable, but scarcely something to be healed."
"No. Old. She has lived centuries."
"Oh. That sort of old. Is she an immortal?"
Imago shrugged. "After four or five centuries, who knows?"