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It is a space full of comforts, yet somehow devoid of it.
Heavy velvet curtains rustle beneath her trembling fingers as she rips them shut across the windows. The Pendants’ proprietor had assured her the suite’s lavish appointments and ample space were certain to delight—she doubts he intended for her to experience them as she does now.
“Who was he to you?” the Exarch asks. It dimly occurs to her to lie, but her chest is caving in and suddenly hiding that particular truth does not matter, because neither does anything else.
“I loved him.”
"I love him," she whispers. It is a confession, or perhaps an apology; in any case, it is far, far too late. For G’raha Tia, who looked at her like he wanted to kiss her until he wouldn’t look at her at all; for P’stachio, who feels snap in her heart that cloudspun thread of hope she hadn’t realized was the one thing holding her together.
From the Ocular, he watches her fall apart.