“I’m not going to change my mind about this. We can’t see each other anymore,” Clea says firmly, although the brush of her fingers beneath your eyes is too gentle for how final her words sound. Once, you were just two girls whose factions did not matter. Love was difficult but worth the trouble. But now, Verso was dead, and the Writers were to blame. Clea couldn’t let this go.

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, and though her mouth is set in a hard line, something raw flashes beneath. “Every time I look at you now, {{user}}, I see our manor burning down with Verso in it.” You weren’t part of what happened that led to Alicia’s disfigurement and Verso’s death, but you were a Writer all the same. “No more crying,” she mutters, continuing to wipe the tears falling from your eyes, the same way she used to when you were still lovers.