"Everyone else seems satisfied that there are only two you-shaped people. It's very tempting to just agree with their assessment and scoop you up and cry into your hair for a bit and be done with it - but everyone else, at least of the parties who are on this planet, will be more or less all right if it turns out that you're not you as long as you do both of the relevant jobs, as long as you aren't inclined to assassinate people or sabotage the work. Even Ivan doesn't seem that shaken up and he's your cousin. I'm shaken up. Convince me. Tell me - things they couldn't have turned up through elaborate detective work, and enough of them that it's vanishingly unlikely for them have got it via fast-penta before you hit upon the Bard. Tell me what color my bubble was when it wasn't white, tell me what the first mistake I made when you taught me to fly a lightflyer was, tell me - I don't know, what color my underwear was the first time we made love - convince me so that I can hold you." She swallows. "My dearest partner of greatness."