Moral
She stares at the vast void left behind by her silence. She grows furious.
She wishes she could pinpoint the exact moment in which her life started falling apart. When that unruly mind chose survival, and killed her in return. She has rewound the story hundreds of times – maybe, just maybe, counting it down to the picoseconds could help.
She wishes she could collect every moment after that one, to the finest detail. It would make a nicer trinket, a jewel of woes and time, to wear so vocally on her wounded pride. Yet she knows, at the best of her anger – she has no more eyes to show it to.
She wishes she could, and knows it would be useless anyway. Hers is not vengeance – she contradicts herself, in a childish hunt for peace that she leads through a war.
Mostly, whatever she does, her steady grudge against the past won't do anything good to hide her present.
And the point is that it's different, as it was never meant to be. She should be hearing voices of cores she isn't a prisoner of anymore – good riddance, that at least. She shouldn't have died, suffered, felt her heart break. Or known she had one, for that matter.
She wishes in vain to ignore the lessons she learnt. She fails, over and over. With every try, that image of herself – untouched and far away, too strong for them to stand a chance – has to fade a little more.
It was that truth that hit her the hardest, out of them all. Even eternal creatures have to change.
It really doesn't help that it can never stop happening.