Tried to learn to protect herself.
And it wasn't enough.
"Poison," I say, the word forming before I consciously decide to speak it. "You said she killed herself with poison."
"Yes."
Poison.
The same thing that almost killed me.
The same method of death, in the same family, generations apart.
"That must have been triggering," I whisper. "Seeing me that night. In the theater. When I?—"
"Yes."
The word is sharp.
Raw.
The first real emotion he's let slip since this conversation started.
"I didn't—" I shake my head, trying to find the right words. "I was suicidal. I won't lie about that. But I didn't drink that poison on purpose. The men forced it down my throat. If I'd chosen to die that way, I would have... I would have made it quicker."
Quicker.
More efficient.
Less time for anyone to save me.
"I probably shouldn't say that," I add, a nervous giggle escaping. "That's not exactly reassuring, is it? 'Hey, I was going to kill myself, but not likethat.' That's..."
"Honest."
The word cuts through my spiral.
Honest.
He's calling me honest, not crazy.
Not broken.
Just honest.
"I don't feel suicidal now," I admit, and the words are quieter—more real. "This week has... it's given me purpose again. That's all I ever wanted. Purpose. Something to work toward. Something to live for."
My hands find the fabric of my costume—fingers tracing the seams, needing something to touch.
"After my parents died, I didn't have that anymore. I was an heir to an empire that didn't exist, preparing for a future that would never come. There was no end game. No point.Just... survival. Day after day of surviving without any reason to survive."
One-two-three-four.
My toe taps against the floor.
One-two-three-four.
"But with a pack..." I trail off, struggling to articulate something I'm still figuring out. "I feel like I have something to live for. People who might actually want me around. Dreams that might actually be achievable."
