. . . I wrote myself a letter. Before I lost memories. It contained firm instructions on the matter.
[And though she doesn't know why and I doubt this bitch Pride reads our bios, her firm instructions to ensure she died neither by her own hand nor through carelessness were also for the sake of a person who died wanting her to live.]
I only mean - to react the way he did, it was neither noble nor hateful. Only sad.
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When Gwen died, I was ready. But she spent her last words telling me not to. [...] I owe it to her.
I can't let there be something that's too much.
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. . . I wrote myself a letter. Before I lost memories. It contained firm instructions on the matter.
[And though she doesn't know why and I doubt this bitch Pride reads our bios, her firm instructions to ensure she died neither by her own hand nor through carelessness were also for the sake of a person who died wanting her to live.]
I only mean - to react the way he did, it was neither noble nor hateful. Only sad.
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That feeling isn't something I want to share with you. [which is his shitty way of saying he understands, i guess.]
... It is what it is. He's gone now. I won't dwell on it.
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And she thinks Pride seems like something of a dweller, actually, but she won't say so.]
It is what it is. But it's unfortunate. I would rather I had caught someone else.
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The end result would be the same. Someone is gone. [he glances at her. and then, in a sort of stilted way:] Be careful.
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Thank you. I always try to be.