Their violence is a drop in the ocean. They are squabbling children. Mewling cubs who think they know a single thing about hate. I am hate itself.

[It still hurts. Of course Lacus is correct. She is a stranger. She can't be Nona any longer. She can't delude herself into thinking she was ever Nona. That Nona was anything other than a brief period of blissful ignorance that was crushed under her weight by virtue of knowing what she was.

She wonders how Palamedes and Camilla will react? Or Pyrrha. She couldn't even be the people they wanted. Useless disgusting hideousness.]

I don't need or want your love. I have suffered enough love for a billion lifetimes.

But you have mine.