Elizabeth's smile cracked and she looked away, back out the window, trying to see something that wasn't there. "None of us are, we simply have the task that is in front of us. Some men are good at following orders, some at leading. But all we have, in the end, is the emptiness of our minds, and the choices we make." Her hand went to her hair, smoothing along one stray curl of it. It weighed on her, always would, what she had to do -- had done. "What I find the hardest to 'fake'... is how those feelings sit. To pretend you are proud of what you have done. When most often you feel a monster."