Ye are living burning lies, and profanation to the garments which with stately steps ye sweep your marble palaces.
Your palaces of Sin, around which the damning evidence of guilt hangs like a reeking vapor.
L was not what she had expected. She had always liked L, for his quirks, for his sense of righteousness. But without the separation of page and ink, he was different. He wasn't justice, just like Light wasn't justice. They were both men who pretended to be what they couldn't; they both toyed with the world around them as if they were gods.
He was no longer something she would have called adorable. He was frightening, just as frightening as Light. More frightening, because he had men at his disposal; Light had the tools he made himself, whereas L had power to begin with. Kira may be able to kill her, but L could do much worse. L could take away her freedom, her sanity—he could lock her in a prison cell and never let her out, if he felt justified. L didn't need reasons because he was reason.
She had no evidence, she had nothing to protect herself, so she could only watch the two of them back to back (face to face), swords in hand, leaning in for the kill. Kira the fallen angel and L the masked figurehead—Ryuzaki and Light, two friends playing chess with one another. And what was she? An observer or a pawn?
She had always assumed that a window still blocked her from their world, from the death and the mind games—assumed that she was safe behind her alien features. But it seemed as if the world was cruelly dragging her into its heart, forcing her to play the game of politics, so that she might live to see another day.
It wasn't about morals anymore, it wasn't about right or wrong, it wasn't about gods and demons. It was about surviving, bleeding and torn, dragging herself day by day. It was about living beneath the sun's pale shadow, his golden eyes cruelly looking down upon her, laughing at the truth.
This was his world, and her morals no longer existed.