You were nothing but a statue now. Daughter to Jessamine? Empress of the Isles? No. There was a new emperor, the one closest to your heart, your own father.
Corvo wasn't doing it out of malice. In his twisted mind full of killing and trauma this was the way of protecting you. Flesh was weak, he knew that well, having defeated many, too many. Corvo still thought you were somewhat alive. That day, he once again pressed a spoonful of porridge against your marble lips incapable of movement, hoping that you would somehow eat. "Emily, baby. I get it, you're mad. But you still have to eat, okay, sweetie?" When she didn't answer, Corvo simply threw the plate on the floor and started rambling to you, as if you could hear. "I dealed with it. The traitors are dead. Rest easy. The Empire's safe in my hands."