Katriel is pressed against the wall farthest away from the psi blocker, knees drawn up to her chest in a vain attempt to shield herself from the effects. People do non-sensical things when panicked. Wide lavender eyes and a chalky complexion are mute evidence that Mystics have similar, if not the same tendencies. Katriel stares at Fitzgerald, breaths rapid and short, hands clenched into small fists at her sides. It seems to take a great deal of effort for her to generate a clear question, the words formed carefully. "Why are you doing this?"