That is a morbid thought. [ Though it isn't meant as a reprimand. Remembering one's mortality is a virtue in her mind. ]

Another might choose to leave much behind that he would not be forgotten. Remembrance, some say, can be a form of immortality.

[ Lucrezia stops by the doorway, placing one hand on the frame as she peers in. Sparse even there, but she sees at least one trinket, a useless decorative thing. She turns to him with a giddy smile. ]

How did you like her?