She nods, and holds out her hand over the ribbon of bone; smoke begins to rise from the characters as the blood eats into the bone like acid etching metal. The smell is like... burning bone, nothing else.

As it burns through, Harrow dabs her nose delicately with a blood-stained handkerchief of blue silk.

When it finishes, she lifts the delicate ribbon--the characters are cut clear through to the tabletop--and wraps it back around the radius. "Perhaps the other away around?" she offers, as she fits it back into the arm. "You activating my work?"