[ she finds that she has no room for pity. sympathy, empathy, mercy, kindness—all of these things are there. but pity? no. people make their choices, and they either see them through to the end or carve a piece of themselves away, lessen themselves in the process. the consequences will be whatever they must be. seteth might think her monstrous. she's sure he does. but she is herself, and she can't imagine his queen has ever been able to say the same.

the ashen demon came by the title honestly. she had been what seiros made her, after all. a doll with its mind and soul suppressed by a heart of stone, ready to get on stage and say its lines, accept the soul poured into it and kill as easily as it breathed. distantly, she recalls a story about a sculptor whose creation was brought to life by the spirits, and though he had loved her in his way, her growing humanity disgusted him. ]

I don't know! [ byleth snaps that at last, frustrated, voice cracking. she doesn't know what she wants to hear. her voice is... relatively flat, but her expressions and inflection are still a bit more dynamic than seteth may be used to from his byleth. ] I don't understand you. How could you stand by her, after all she's done? For no one's sake but her own? I thought you were better than that.