"Mm," you say, raising a hand. Grief sweeps in through the window, a tide of deep purple flooding in as a torrent. It pours around you, all three of you, wrapping under the bed and over your heads and blotting out the light.
You hear an alarmed squeak before you will the interior of the sphere to glow. As a gentle illumination begins to suffuse the interior of your not-really-a-sphere, another effort of will -shield us from outside influence- turns it into an interdiction still-not-really-a-sphere.
When you turn back to Kirika, you find her clinging to Oriko's side in an awkward, hunched over posture, and the seer's arm is wrapped around her waist. You raise an eyebrow.
"She doesn't like darkness," Oriko notes.
"Orikooooooooo," Kirika whines, lifting her head from Oriko's shoulder. "You didn't have to tell heeeeerrrr."
"But I did, dear," Oriko says, smiling at her.
Kirika pouts and flops over on the bed next to Oriko, reaching up to play with Oriko's silvery mane of hair.