[The knot in her throat grows. She doesn't want to talk about moving forward. Kill the Paintress. Kill Renoir. After that--she can't fathom what the world looks like. What Emma would look like, hearing her brother died. What his apprentices will look like, when she hands them Gustave's journal, her own accounts splotched with teardrops and lacking his attention to detail.

She doesn't know what to say. So little helps the pain. After a quiet that feels too long, hands twisting the handkerchief in her lap, she swallows around the heavy lump in her throat.]

You miss Sophie. I try to... remember that. Maybe you'll figure out how to make it work by the time I see you again, yeah?

[While she doesn't know exactly why they broke up, she's sure he fumbled. Somehow. Probably. That thought gives her some solace. The next life.]