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There's irony in men waiting around in a crystal tower. They expect the world delivered on a silver tray with extra sugar to make the cold, hard truth go down.
The truth is that they are not worth their weight in mora. At least lost children can be trained to use their potential. The longstanding Harbingers, as they are, have been comfortable far too long. They've forgotten what it means to struggle.
Rosalyne acquired two of the six gnoses the Tsaritsa requested without so much as breaking a nail. She did so without causing chaos, without harming innocents, and the rest of the Harbingers accomplished what, exactly, in that time? Her Majesty's intentions be damned. What Rosalyne lacked in combat prowess she compensated for in initiative. She got it done and she did it well.
The meeting disguised as her funeral assured us of what we already knew: Fatui Harbingers and everyone trapped under them are a joke. The organization is a mockery of proper military force and a greater mockery of governance.
Maybe the Cryo Archon was warm, once, but the time has passed since her heart froze over. What love she had for Snezhnaya and our people is no more. It's evidenced in our history. It's scattered across our tattered landscapes. Words spoken between those in power hold no value. Promises exist to be unmade. The only guarantee offered to our people is a frigid first breath. Even that could kill them.
It's all a farce. We knew that, but the assurance made it real. This is a poorly-written play penned in blood and bad faith. What comes of this is no happy ending; no one from this failing empire knows how to craft one.
In that, there's nothing to be done.
We are strung up on stage as puppets instead of actors, tugging at each other to see who snaps first.