[Alice listens to Jaskier prattle on, grateful in the moment for his inability to deal with silence. She still doesn't know much about the world he's from (and vice-versa, if she must be honest), and she's sincerely curious about it. It sounds like a rough existence, not unlike the medieval era of her own history. But he's fond of it, which is to be expected. She's quite fond of her own world, too.

Then he pivots almost seamlessly into the macabre.

Something in Alice snaps, and she finds herself laughing instead of having the much-more-sensible reaction of being horrified. Clearly she needs the release of tension, and perhaps she's seen way too many terrible sights in her life for this story to register as too horrific. It's more the way he so easily brings it up that's gotten to her. (Perhaps that's for the best.)]

Jaskier, you're awful at this.

[She accepts her mug of tea and holds it close to her face, breathing in the steam in an attempt to get it together. It takes a few moments, but the giggles subside.]

I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh at you. You're trying to help.

Maybe it's better if we focus on the wine instead of the corpses. Toussaint wine, you called it?