She is cold because her powers are ice and rock. She is abrasive because she is superintelligent. This is all well and good. What was not well and good was when she sat you down and said: “I do not actually have magic. I am just autistic.”
The slow death of Hanahaki disease is meant to be a manifestation of the overwhelm of love, a progression of the colloquial language that we have, for decades, been building to describe this indescribable feeling. Lovesick. Butterflies in your stomach. All of that. It’s not pleasant language. It’s not supposed to be.
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