She shivers, realising. But doesn't pull away. Oh, Norman... She doesn't pull away. If anything, she curls closer, wanting to see mor, th origin and the nature of this newcomer in her fiancee's mind. (Or was it even new?)
"Plaine." Searching... "Oh." Her stomach turns, sick fear and dismay. "She's -- gotten involved with him?"
He chuckles, and the fingers combing through her hair feel ever so slightly clawed. Not entirely new, no. But it's been some time. A year, and then some. Maybe just before her time, that last time this mind surfaced, that entertaining fight with the masked man.
She remembers vaguely, the way she does anything from when she was still Norman. This fresh reminder, the stark reality of those claws in her hair, makes her shiver, and she doesn't hide the fear from him. Or that it isn't enough to make her flee.
Another unhappy sound. "She probably thinks she can pull one over on him. Hell."
Here would be best, yes. More familiar, the threads twist better for them both. "Mmmyes." She leans against him, getting more comfortable again. It's alright. She's still safe, even with this new development. Her Norman is still in there.