She hesitates at that. Her name -- it's like giving up a piece of her in a sense. It makes him familiar with her, makes her known. In spite of all he's done, she still isn't sure if she should be doing any of this.

But she doesn't yet stop, either.

"I'm Lapis," she offers quietly. "Lapis Lazuli."

(She can't help but admit, even with her hesitation, that there's a certain thrill to giving it . . . to being known by it. Being called by her own name, having that recognition . . . not even that has been a possibility for so long.)

But again, back to the part that made her hesitate in the first place:

"You . . . set me free." There's the implicit question tucked inside it: Why?