It's not ours. It was never ours, nothing in there was ever ours, we weren't ours, it was a fucking prison, Kostos.

[ She sets her mug down but keeps her hands wrapped around it, knuckles white. ]

It's a fucking prison but people are going to look at it and say see, it wasn't so bad, look at this place, it's beautiful, who wouldn't be happy here, what are they whining about, and people are tempted and they compromise and that's how we lose. That's why I had to.

[ She's not at her most eloquent, emotion tangling thoughts in ways drink rarely does. She shakes her head, reaching up to scrape one hand through her hair. ]

Stop looking at me like I tore down your home. That place wasn't home.