[ And it hurts. And it sucks. The words build some wall in her chest, block her throat. All that anger and hatred and grief and remorse she feels for Rebekah, because of Rebekah, because of herself. Her jaw works over it; she nearly shakes her head against it, but her voice and resolve is firm despite how upsetting it all is. ] You're right. Nothing's going to change the facts. I hate looking at you and seeing what I did. What I was capable of doing. What I'd do again. [ And she doesn't want to. She doesn't want that. But here she is, saying so, admitting it. Amongst all the glamor and pomp of some party in the middle of a sea, in prison. It's freeing. Ironically.
The theme was come as you want to be. Wanting has never gotten her anywhere. She'd much rather be at this point. ] And I'm sorry. It doesn't make me like you any more, just because I am. And it doesn't make anything else you've done okay, and it doesn't mean I forgive it. [ She pauses, only a moment. The hard truth is just that: hard. ] But I'll let it go. Because it is what it is, and we both have to live with it.