[ the base of her bicep still oozes dark smoke as she wobbles her way toward him, feeling only phantom pain. her detached prosthetic arm, in the meantime, without being connected to her bloodstream, probably slips free from the vines as he tears them off. after all, if it's not attached to her emotions, then the "emotional harmony" part of the ordeal no longer applies... so he should be able to free his arm just fine.

with her free hand, she snatches her arm from him. the oozing has stopped by then, revealing a strange parasite that lives at base of her arm. she plops the prosthetic back to her arm, and it jerks violently before she's finally to get feeling at the tip of her fingers. ]

It comes with the ... [ she wants to say job, but that's not exactly true, is it. ] Look, I'm not really human, all right? Any of these limbs can reattach. The flower doesn't let me die.

[ the one in her eye, she means. but little does she know, the arm was only able to reattach because of the parasite... all of her other regenerative abilities have been stripped away. ]