Illyria pays minimal attention to the principality's words; things of human make do not particularly concern her, nor does she have undue interest in sampling them, however much the principality may find them inventive. When it falls abruptly silent, however, very unlike its ordinary intriguing aggravating self, the God-King looks at it sharply. The principality has simply stopped working.

She approaches it cautiously, suspecting it to perhaps be some form of ploy. When the thing does not move, she drops into a slow crouch in front of its - the word? - couch and stares at it.

(She will not become concerned over how easy it has become for her to summon inconsequential human terms for things. It means nothing.)

"Principality."

No response. Illyria reaches with one of her shell's fingers and brushes at its shoulder lightly.

"Principality."

Still nothing. It appears not to be in any great physical pain, however, so Illyria will wait until it rises again. It may have engaged in sleep or some equally, frustratingly mortal chore for the time being despite its nonhuman properties, and she finds this to be both bothersome and interesting.

For the time being, Illyria will remain here and wait for it to stir. And watch.