"And you would have stayed dead were it not for me!"
Sometimes you remember that moment. Oftentimes, you remember that moment. It's not your favourite memory with Meenah, if you were to say the very least. It's been so long since then, but you're dead. You have time to think about it. To think about how your lips pressed against Meenah's. How rough they were, despite your constant reminders to do something about it. How they were colder than normal. How she complained about your tears dripping onto her face when the life returned to her eyes. How you were still crying pathetically even after she gave you some shitty pun to try to cheer you up.
If this had been anyone else, you think that perhaps... You wouldn't have cared. You'd have kissed them, but that would have been it. No complicated feelsy-type bullshit. Not like there was with Meenah. You don't know what it is about that damn girl. You two are nothing alike. She's spunky, carefree, disliked yet respected. You... You're selfish. You try not to be, but you are, and you're basically an enigma. It's hard for you to even get a read on yourself.
It's likely that Meenah didn't think about it as much as you did. As much as you still do. It's not so much the kiss itself, you reason. It's more of the feeling that came with it. The realization that perhaps... You grew flushed for Meenah. Somewhere, somehow, it happened. You don't know how, and you hate how those feelings have yet to fade.
It's highly likely that Meenah would never feel the same. You know her too well; she can't focus on one thing for long. She always needs something new. You? You're not new. At best, you two will remain friends. If you're lucky, moraillegiance will be achieved. But you doubt that this will go any further. And with the threat of Lord English looming above your heads, time to further relationships becomes shorter and shorter.
"That's it!"
"Toughest five bucks I ever made."
Nothing else is said. It's clear that this memory isn't Meenah's favourite either. Telling yourself she's thinking of Damara rather than you does nothing to help that inkling of anxiety. As a troll, you've matured, but you know that at pump biscuit, you are still a dorky teenager with a heaping amount of anxiety and snark.
"... Bye."
She's already walked off.