She is. And she has to push some jitters out into the bees to keep herself moving forward, their contented hum pitching up a note as she slips her prosthetic hand into her pocket.

"I'm still afraid," she says. Not of love. Not of Ulla's answer. Mostly that she's going to fumble this moment. "But fear's not worth holding anything back."

It's a quick shift, from sitting to kneeling in front of Ulla, still holding her hand. The two rings gleam softly on her other palm, carved of rainbow nacre and looking impossibly fragile.

Another breath, like she's about to take a dive.

"Ulla, I want to give you every day of the rest of my life. I want my years to unscroll at your side. I want to marry you, if you'll say yes."