"Ah, then I appreciate the sentiment. In fact, it's almost as if the class itself is helping to process, to resolve the issue at large and bring about a new dawn of life." The Socialite hadn't meant to let that slip, but took it in stride. "Of course, in matters of processing emotions. Nothing else of import, simply... the emotions..." The Morbid Socialite was remarkably bad at lying, it would seem. Or, at least, lying about this. It was almost as if the involvement, the story, was too massive to be contained within the fabric of the falsehood, pushing at the seams until the thread threatened to tear and reveal it all in an outpouring of honesty that even the Socialite couldn't stop. This, however, was not that time. For now, the truth only strained against its maintained confines.