"The ones who'd... changed," she says impatiently. She doesn't remember it happened to her. Or, at least – she didn't, when she'd asked that question, but having to recall it more directly is forcing her to think about that whole situation, which is bringing her last moments on Earth looming out of the fog. She opens her mouth to continue, and then pauses, doubt starting to spread over her face, and looks down at the hand she isn't holding Peridot's shirt with. It's... normal. No claws. No blemishes. But...