Strangely, she's not as surprised by this question as she thought she might have been. Still, it's a puzzling question to have to answer. There isn't much that can touch her, physically, and anything that can? Well, suffice it to say, there wouldn't be enough left over for him to treat.

She stubs her cigarette out and sips her drink, clearly pondering her answer.

Eventually, she shakes her head a little. "I heal, but it takes," she holds up a hand, palm up, fingers curling in, "an essence you can't provide. It comes from all around. Mmm. Positive energy. Happiness. Joy."

That intangible fuel of the Light. Love and hope and all that nonsense.