It's a normal-sounding name, for a normal-looking person. She knows as well as anyone how deceptive that can be.

"I'm Grace," she offers in lieu of a handshake. In point of fact, she has maintained approximately the same distance from him for the entire conversation thus far. Close enough to read as casually attentive; distant enough to require more than one step if they were to suddenly lunge for her. Carefully calculated for maximum safety-- theirs, of course.

God forbid anyone accidentally touch her. That would be decidedly contrary to her stated purpose in being here.

She glances at his still-shoeless feet on the floor. Does she want to know what he did? Would that be opening a can of worms she can't put back? Maybe if he knew better who he was talking to, he wouldn't want her to know. This normal-looking person. Maybe she should test how normal he really is.

Almost casually, Grace tucks her legs up underneath her, as if curling up into a big easy chair for an afternoon of reading; except she isn't, she's floating there, and while her posture appears casually relaxed, there's absolutely no denying how breathtakingly incongruous the action is juxtaposed with the blank look on her pale face.

"Tell me," she states, laying her hands gently in her lap. A challenge.