Lysander snorted. "Neither. I remember my Viviane," he said refering to his violin. "Her music is the only sweet memory I have of my youth," he tapped his cigarette on the edge of an ashtray. "But I suppose it depends on the person, would you rather be remembered as a mass murderer who dislocated thousands of people, destroyed ancient cultures and practices all for the sake of impressing your own self on another, or a kind and gentle soul whose children live on to enrich the world."