[She's silent for a long while, in the wake of his apology. It's not him that she fears, so much. To look at him is to admit that she told the tale that she told. If this was an unburdening, her heart felt no lighter. But of course, nothing was so simple.]

...there are others that the queen ought to ask forgiveness from. But they're gone now, aren't they? Each and every last one.

[She lifts a hand to push the hair from her face, then sinks back into her seat and exhales deeply. She looks tired. She looks old, eyes deep-set and face drawn.]

She was mad, wasn't she? How hideous, to be so completely sunk into madness, and to be unable to recognize it. To feel justified, every step of the way along the road to ruin.