It was reasonable enough. Even though there were no corpses downstairs yet, plenty of people were uncomfortable with the more... behind-the-scenes areas of funeral homes. They weren't much to see anyway; just two more rooms, floors tiled to be easily cleanable, some water cremation machines, and a few shelves holding containers of honey, sweet wine, and bitter herbs to keep up the appearance of using something natural to preserve the bodies.
"That is quite alright, dear," Nainda assured her, taking no offense. "This way, then."
She doubled back to lead the way toward the lounge. Once there, she was quiet to allow Ada to work in peace, taking a seat on one of the plush sofas. The furniture was antique, and didn't fully match, but had been chosen not to clash, either. Eclectic, but tasteful. While Ada worked, Nainda observed her. She seemed out of place in a funeral home, though not in a bad way. A bright spot of light that served as a refreshing change from what most of her life had consisted of. The downside of working in death was that the people she encountered weren't usually happy, regardless of their usual dispositions. She looked toward the art on the wall to avoid staring, a variety of framed paintings she had found in the attic. Landscapes and the occasional still life, mostly.
She looked at Ada again as she spoke. She leaned in close to see what she could of the draft. Although she couldn't make out the words, her trouble with eyesight would be questionable in a career that demanded a literal keen eye for detail, so she relied mostly on the pictures. That, and a bit of help from her patron, bringing the voices back to her ear and the chill back to the room.
)