[Lorna's nose crinkles, both at the compliment and the tendril snaking over her ankle, which she jokingly tries to shake off as though it were a stubborn stocking.]

I might agree with you, if they weren't such a dour color.

[Black fur, black horns, black wings and hooves - compared to Anna, who's colors are as bright and cheerful as she herself is, Lorna is as dull and drab as the sweepings from a fireplace.]

...Do you suppose they could be painted?

[The idea comes to her suddenly, out of nowhere, and certainly not at all because she's found herself staring at Anna's lovely fingernails again.]