( she knows. she knows, and thus leads them back in the same circle they've been murmuring along that dark riverside, with cuts along her temples in a stopped elevator, ears ringing from explosions that still echo within her bones. she can still feel his callous palm hovering over her crown, curling into her amongst the dust, rubble, shrapnels melodiously hitting the floor around them. )

So then what? ( there isn't an answer, he knows there isn't and she knows just as well. ) You stay, you take out the bastards that hurt your family, that even played a part, but when does it stop?

( her head ducks, and there's that crystalline glaze over her hues like a threat to drift those warm droplets down her cheeks; she hates it, an automatic response that wells up from caring too much, thinking too much, trying too much. not knowing when to stop, herself. right now, she's just preaching to the choir. )

Does it stop there? ( for either of us? )