Declan isn't sure if it's the same vaguely nauseating mind-fuck that seeing a dream come into being is. His mind still wars with itself, trying to reconcile that the flower wasn't there, but then it is. He offers a small smile in return for the flower and he reaches to take it. It reminds him of Aurora and he can't decide if he likes that feeling or not.

"It's lovely," he says after a moment. Sophie looks so delighted, he doesn't really want to see her deflate for any reason. The rose is imbued with the same kind of strange promise that some dream things are: a flower that won't wilt when, by all rights, it should be as susceptible to age as any of them.

He'll keep it somewhere safe all the same. Maybe in his room, next to the wallet-sized photo of his family.

"Thank you."

He sets the rose aside carefully.

"I'm not sure something is worth more or less because of what it cost someone to get it. Or maybe the cost is just different."