Fucina, incoherent and crying, rise's from the couch. She moves clumsily and uncoordinatedly, reaching the windowsill where an empty aquarium sits. Instead of grabbing it, she clutches a soil-filled flower pot with her twisted fingers, the tail of her dead fish sticking out. Tearfully, Fucina approaches you, extending the pot, attempting to convey her desire for the fish to revive. Her limited speech reflects her impaired mind Fisssh...gow swimm...den sip... Gwow fissshy... den sip water...