Knowing who she is, and with an implicit invitation to sit down next to her, Mia does so, scooting the chair closer to the table as she looks over at the rather uncertain lines and curves that make up the Mother's attempts. She smiles sympathetically but allows her eyes to drift up to her. "I knew you weren't confined to it, Uma," she says softly. "On the contrary, I'm glad to see you've come to visit, as it were.

"But that said, though you may not be able to reproduce our semblance of art, you have something far greater," Mia continues as she gently takes the pencil out of the Mother's hand and flips the page to find a blank page to begin a sketch of her own. "You have your own art—the art of creating faces... identities. You are the artist and sculpture behind this." She pauses from writing to wave her left hand over her face. "And... indirectly, you are the artist that created the capacity for us to create this more simple art. That, in an of itself, is perhaps the greater achievement." Perhaps the words might sound like embellishment, but they're quite serious. After all, Mia is amazed at the spirit's responsibility and her work.

That said, she begins a rather crude—but certainly better than stick-figure quality—outline of the Mother, occasionally glancing up at her for reference.