What does it matter? ( She throws back readily, easily, with an edge. Perhaps she is the fool in this, though she has not played this part much in a life that draws far too long now. )

Intent can be sweet. But the consequences are sour. No matter his reasons, or his beliefs. Look at me.

( Her chest gored, but — and perhaps this is why she nods towards the wound — recovering, muscles knitting back to fill out the hole. Unnaturally, impossibly, grotesquely real and efficient. )

It began with Matthias. End it with him.