[At the very least, it is not the first time that she has blood on her hands.

It stains her fingers, her palms and she doesn't flinch. It's evidence of this person's pain and it would be shameful to turn away from it. Even if they're strangers, this is the least that she can do as another human being, she thinks. Even as his words hurt her.

What must that be like? To be so alone?

A shake of her head.]

You don't know that.

Their souls may still be watching - [and she's grasping, she knows it, she knows nothing of spirituality] - and this... this is painful to watch for even the living.

Please... stop.