[Ringo, with all of two months of life under her belt, can't even begin to imagine five hundred years.

Aion has been around longer than that, but Ringo isn't Aion. She has no concept of that sort of time.

... Her brow furrows a little, and she reaches out, brushing her fingers gently against Furina's cheek.]

... Tell me things you want me to know. Tell me... whatever you've got on your chest, anything you've wanted to get off of it.

I like to think I'm a pretty good listener, you know? And--I want to know all of that.

[Since five hundred years of--what, "godhood"?--is too much to just go through from the beginning onwards.]