[She doesn't complain when he scoops her up, taking her to the pile that this all started on. He curls in close, and she takes that opportunity to cling tightly to him, feeling a lot like a child in that moment. Still, she wishes they could stay that way forever. His words come as an unwelcome reminder, jarring her out of this safe moment.

But she listens when he speaks. She's been doing a lot of listening lately. To him, to Meulin, to her own messed up train of thoughts. There's so much to sort through and so many conflicts. But what he says feels true. What he told this other person feels right in a way that her thoughts say isn't. It sounds like something she might have told Kurloz once. Maybe it was. Or maybe he came up with it himself.

He talks of painting over a canvas as a metaphor for his past crimes, but it sits uneasy in her heart.]

...Yes, I understand. But it doesn't... Painting over the canvas doesn't make it blank again. It's still been marred. It can't ever be pristine again. Even if you paint it blank, it's still painted. It's fake.

[And by that logic, it can't ever be good. Any attempt to be so is just...pretending to be something it's not.]