[mission: hyrypia] hey kid wanna see a dead body

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: EVERYONE
WHERE: The Second Flight
WHEN: DAY :021 - DAY :022
SUMMARY: Leaving the Graze and flying over the Finger Maze. [insert Psycho music cue here]
WARNINGS: Corpses. Will update as necessary. Need a warning added? PM this account please!

HYRYPIA - THE SECOND FLIGHT
DAY :021

I. ALLLL ABOARD
THE SOUND OF HORNS has become familiar in your time on Hyrypia, but the low drone seems out of place here in the great open space of the main hall of the Second’s Flight. The space here is fantastically and beautifully ornate, the pale polished wood floors and rich dark paneling strangely reminiscent of sand and stone, loamy earth and some rich, dense forest not native to the arid lands of this planet. The space seems to dare the sky to claim it, acting out some daring violation of delivering the earth into the heavens. The twin heads of House Tyrisson are equally lavish both in their appearance and welcome. Two brothers, draped in elaborate pastel fabrics and glinting with enough metal accents to put the ornate robes of Seconds to shame, they trade a short speech back and forth between them:

"Once, our ancestors would have travelled the depths and turns of the Finger Maze in an effort to follow the footsteps of the First. Luckily, we don't live in such dangerous times; the gifts of the First and this planet we call home have allowed us to grow up out of our desperation. Consider this comfort our gift to you and enjoy your time on the Second Flight."

A band strikes up the moment the Tyrisson twins take their seats and you are left to your own devices. So much for living simply.

II. A MURDER MOST FOUL
A SCREAM PIERCES THE SILENCE of the saunas. The low sound of gently flowing water and the soft piped music seems to fade to nothing in the wake of the raw, terrified noise. Unsurprisingly, it draws immediate attention as a horrified Descendant practically falls into the arms of the servant that comes to his aid. The outburst is easily forgiven as word travels like lightning through the ship.

There has been a murder - or rather, two murders. Two bodies, damp with humidity and beginning to give of a distinctly unpleasant smell, have been found in one of the hot bath grottos. The mineral water they've been soaking in has reverted from a milky white to a terrible, blood rust brown.

And while it's unlikely that any Carbauschians were sharing the pool with them (robes make for unpleasant waders), the dryer albeit stiflingly hot areas of the conjoined saunas are such a communal meeting places that it wouldn't be out of the realm of imagination that one or two Hosts might be nearby… Regardless, news travels quickly and the chilly atmosphere that descends over the Second Flight is palpable. A horrific hunting accident is one thing, but murder? That's something else altogether.


HYRYPIA - THE SECOND FLIGHT
DAY :022

III. A SORDID AFFAIR
TO SAY that the atmosphere is somewhat tense is an understatement. It seems that everyone has something to say about the murders- but these things are said tersely, in whispers under the breath, with darting eyes and suspicious glances, and security- once hidden, secret- is now easily visible. They can be found at the entrance of each of the broad areas, patrolling down the paths that run alongside the outer walls of the Envoy’s cabins- never intruding, but ever present. Still, there seems to be an insistence that it will be dealt with by a member of the Tyrisson protectorate guard - Detective Savela, a hard-nosed, serious woman who seems not to want any assistance - and that the guests should continue to enjoy themselves. The bands still play, the games are ever present. Of course, those that are enterprising may wish to try poking around, instead.

IV. THE SHOW MUST GO ON
MURDER SCHMURDER-- In what's very clearly an effort to retain some sense of normalcy, an elaborate meal is served late on Day :022. The dishes are so complex that might as well be show pieces of their own, the music has an air of desperation, and the display of technomancy from a pair of Seconds is so delicate and ornate - centering almost entirely on a cloud of small metal coins that shifts shape constantly to illustrate scenes from the famous epic poem The Arion throughout the course of the dinner - that under any other circumstances it might be a singularly memorable moment.

Unfortunately, the palpable sense of suspicion between the envoy factions persists and the temper of the room is anything but celebratory. Late in the evening when most people have retired from the stifling atmosphere, a scuffle breaks out between some Meradan bodyguards and a clutch of Carpathan servants.


HYRYPIA - THE SECOND’S FLIGHT
DAY :023

V. A FAREWELL TO ARMS
THE ENGINES ever-present hum ticking down an octave is the first sign that the Flight has almost reached its destination. By the time the servants are politely knocking on the entrances of the berthings, the new dawn reveals that the cliffs and the winding passages of the Finger Maze have finally fallen behind the ship. The land here consists of rocky, relatively bare hills and is accented only with occasional short, sparse woody tree and straggly clumps of red grass. From somewhere in the distance, salt touches the wind. The Second Flight lands, setting gently down into the trough between two hills. Its now familiar gangplank extends, ready to send the Pilgrims again out onto the road.

---

((OOC Notes: This log covers days :021 and :022 on the Second Flight. A log will be posted for the walk on DAY :023 and the arrival at the Red Coast. Please be sure to review the MISSION: HYRYPIA ooc information to find setting information for the Second Flight. If you have any questions, please hit up either the mission's question thread, the FAQ or MOD CONTACT pages!))

NAVIGATION • GAME CALENDAR • MISSION: HYRYPIA • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

( CODE BY WHAMBAM )

Comments

[adamance]

[Given that it's Lexa, there's no need to hail her—the reason why she's here is Clarke. The tension in the air among the four who had taken part in the conversation is thick, like something she can barely manage, or barely breathe through. It's her own doing, but it drives a wedge between her and Bellamy and her and Clarke. Now that they're in a single room together, driven into the same place by circumstance or fate, she knows she can't continue to leave things this way. It would be impolite.

More than that, it was hard enough spending three months away from Clarke because of her betrayal. And another three months here. And now—

She orders a drink before she advances. Some part of her wants to be difficult, wants to make things as hard as possible. But it's hard to hide the brush of her mind against Clarke's, and after a few sips of "courage," she draws closer, coming to sit beside her, not bothering to take a seat across from her. She craves proximity. If she had been smarter about how she handled certain things in the past few days, she could have had it.

It's times like this where she wishes they had privacy. She wants Clarke to be able to see her face. There's a lot on her mind, and she doesn't conceal it through effort. The jumble of thoughts is present, like a convoluted mess made worse by the person producing it. Lexa has always overcomplicated things, even when she's pretended as if she wasn't. Nothing changes that now.]

( How much of that have you had? I'd like to catch up to you. ) [It's a casual remark, but she has a different aim: Lexa is willing to relax, to bend a bit, to be open. She knows that the alcohol will help, because if anything, she needs to be more candid here.]

[skaikru]

( whatever tension and anger has managed to drive a wedge between the four of them are eased with time, and lubricated with the imbibement of one rather liberally poured cocktail. as highly as clarke had turned up her nose at the idea of using rough, alien alcohol to ease the pain of lavellan's passing — especially when it led to dangerous, impulsive behaviors (rustin) — she could still appreciate the ease with which it allowed her to ignore the prickle of anxiety that crawls up her spine at the thought of another confrontation. clarke may have waved her over, but she's still chewing the inside of her cheek and trying to find footing to begin any sort of conversation.

lexa finds purchase before she can even open her mouth again, however, and that provides some measure of relief. )

( Just one. ) ( and while there's a pleasant fuzz around the darker, less pleasant thoughts swirling in clarke's head, her mind is still relatively clear, and the words pass through the mental link without the implication of slurring. still, the need to clarify manifests itself and perhaps her tipsiness better presents as a lacking in a cerebral filter. ) ( I'm not drunk. )

[adamance]

[Lexa recalls Clarke's desperation in her return to the tent after Lavellan's death. Some part of her recognizes that she should have been uncomfortable that evening, willing to drive a wedge between them for the sake of appearances. The events following that have only left her wondering: how much was heard? Did Murphy and Bellamy know about the desperate pleas that passed between them? Had it impacted how Lexa behaved the next day, or should it have impacted her more? It felt like a moment out of time, existing alone and untouched by the world. Now, it doesn't.

Or rather: it hasn't. For days now.

This is all significant for this reason: Lexa thinks it's better that they don't escape to that. But it's good to be on the same level.]

( Good. I haven't tested the limits of what they have to offer yet. ) [She's been too controlled, too removed. Her focus has been on the mission.] ( You've improved. ) [Another admission of sorts. She observes, even when she can't reach out and touch her.]

( You tend to have much to say at times like this. ) [It takes a lot to not push, to refrain from controlling the conversation.

But she knows better than to do that right now. She had done it when she sparked this conflict. Lexa has learned (by now, at least—or with Clarke, which is a selfish condition in and of itself) that she has to slip into the passive role, to bring out the more demanding part of Clarke.]

[skaikru]

( Times like this? )

( when lightly intoxicated but fighting the haze of alcohol in an attempt to hold a level conversation? when several hundred feet above glorious canyons that look like they could be torn from picture books, or painted on canvas? when surrounded by potentially hostile persons, wary and distrusting every welcoming gesture their hosts put forth? when they've, the people she trusts and relies upon the most, have been at odds with little reconciliation among them despite the rather stilted attempt made to reach out to murphy directly following the explosive disagreement? when still chaffed raw from grief, despite lavellan's death being momentarily pushed to the back of her mind in light of all the big events that had followed?

or just always, because clarke generally has plenty of very loud opinions to share. but the desire to be difficult and perhaps a little aloof coupled with the urge to keep it bottled up and forego any further argument has her skirting the invitation to speak freely. the ice in her glass is melting, she can feel the chill through dampening gloves as she curls both hands around the base of her cup. thinking, dragging a finger through the wetness, and sighing as she turns to stare out the window. it makes it easier to speak. )

( Not really. I — ) ( i miss you. i'm still angry. i'm sorry. they're all genuine options of how to finish that statement, but at least in this moment lack the emotional backing to force up on her tongue. with the tired resignation of one too torn to put forth any solid arguments: ) ( I don't have anything useful to say right now. The view's nice. )

[adamance]

[A brief bout of silence passes between them as Lexa openly examines Clarke's body language, at a loss for much of anything else. It would be better if they were somewhere more private. (Then again, when doesn't she feel that particular sentiment these days?) While Clarke can't see the examination, Lexa ensures that she can feel it. She's probing and curious, not yet pressing at her mind but not inching away, either. Like she's trying to tap the surface of water, only that water is Clarke's mind.

The issue with Clarke's unwillingness to cause friction between them is that it forces Lexa to grow impatient. She can only play passive for so long. She already offered her the invitation to speak, and to her, it was declined. That's why she observed. That's why she waited. That's why she allows the silence, even if it conjures up a great deal of tension between them.

(Though that may just be her imagination.)]

( I never knew you to be anything less than useful, Clarke. You have a way with pragmatism. ) [A frustrating way, at that. Clarke's handling of politics is an odd mixture of blunt force and sly, like she's managed to combine the features even better than most of Lexa's people. It was a rare quality.]

( What are you afraid will come of us speaking? Or do you really think that I'm surprised that you'd still side with one of your people? ) [By proclaiming sides, Lexa puts distance between herself and Bellamy—and herself and this situation. It's both purposeful and not, as if she wants that divide but doesn't think it through. Not entirely, at least.]

[skaikru]

( it's like a jumpstart to her system, the pilot light to all her perpetual frustration sparked. agitation colors the link, and clarke making no strides to conceal it as she drags her gaze from the window to stick lexa with a look that radiates disquiet and disinterest. )

( I didn't side with anyone. )

( is that entirely true? without airing all her hopes, dreams and conflicting thoughts aloud, clarke had still aligned herself most heavily with bellamy's line of thinking. there's no point going back until the war here was won, but then someday, maybe if they survived, they could return home and finish their battles there. see their loved ones — at least most of them. but in this moment clarke's conviction holds, and she thinks in a timbre of tight, controlled venom. when wounds reopen, they bleed anew. )

( We all agreed that we can't go home, and then just talked in circles until we got angry and snide. And unnecessarily hurtful — all over something none of us have any control over.

I'm not afraid of talking to you, Lexa, I just don't want to have the same pointless conversation again. )

[adamance]

( We had very different experiences during that conversation. ) [To Lexa, there was an apparent divide in understanding. Murphy's lashing out had come from a place of reason, but also a place of being hurt. Hers may have been the same. Somehow, it's worsened. Hearing Clarke's description of that day only reopens a wound that she's been trying to ignore.

When she had come back to her tent to prevent her from destroying Arkadia, it had been after Bellamy had hurt her.

When she had taken a stance in a different tent, it had been because she had understood Bellamy again. And hoped to protect him.

It feels like a constant, one that digs into her skin, one that wishes she could push away and act as if it doesn't hurt. Lexa knows that Titus hoped to keep her from feeling pain like this—or similar to this. He had been too shortsighted to realize what could truly happen with Clarke and her people.

Or perhaps she's too shortsighted in this moment. It's hard to say.]

( But I didn't come here to rehash that conversation. I came to solve a difference in understanding. ) [The truth is that she's only just decided what she's going to do. But Lexa speaks as if she had a plan all along. The antagonism toward Clarke paid off, giving her the answer she needed.]

( You fail to see why it is that we had different experiences there. Why your blind faith in Bellamy transcends even your efforts for your people. But I've seen it for myself. I've made decisions based upon that faith. And I protected him for you. In your stead, as if I knew what you needed me to do all along. I think we can agree that he will always come before nearly everyone. And has for some time. ) [There are nuances there, as Lexa allows Clarke to understand them, opening her mind up just enough to let her see that saying this hurts her. It's not just "nearly everyone" at the end. Lexa doesn't include herself. Clarke's mother—she's included. But not Lexa herself.

That level of unconditional love shouldn't need to be spoken, and even now, Lexa can't bring herself to call it what it is. Or what she believes it to be.

(To her, they're one and the same right now.)]

[skaikru]

( clarke had forwarded this entire conversation with the conviction that she wasn't drunk, but perhaps the alien liquor was having a stronger effect on her powers of deduction than originally thought. that would be an easy excuse, a decent way to pawn off any disconnect and her inability to fully comprehend their stark contrasting experiences. even when laid out so neatly before her very eyes. the efficient hurt, the sensation of exclusion; standing off to the side and observing two people so readily connected by history and heavy emotion. but it's been so long since she'd stood and watched finn and raven by the escape pod, and despite the invitation of association clarke refuses to acknowledge the comparisons.

openly admitting one's feelings, that ought to resonate too. she ought to pay that honesty back in kind, but the proverbial button on all of clarke's bone-deep vulnerability remains fastened. she grapples for a time, churning lexa's words over in her head. the accusations of her bias seem to be demanding an explanation, a defensive contradiction, a solid rejection and a firm stance in their solidarity as one people — bellamy, lexa, murphy; all people she cares deeply about, all invariably hers — when so completely detached from the populations that had made them into what they are. but the best clarke can muster is: )

( He's my best friend, Lexa. ) ( it had been so easy to qualify their relationship as such when misato had accosted her on the viewing fields in the earlier stages of the races. my best friend, with all the weight of importance behind that fact, but simply put as if there's nothing else there. clarke hadn't deigned to provide misato the insight and footholds in the conversation to grapple further on the topic, but lexa already has the traction.

my best friend manages to sound a lot like i need him, i care for him, i trust him all rolled into one. the embodiment of all her people in one soul. it had never been a secret where each of their deepest loyalties lay, and yet under lexa's pointed inquisition, clarke squirms. )

( I don't know what you want me to say. )

[adamance]

[Coming to care for Bellamy may be the very thing that put Lexa in this position. She had justified caring for him in place of caring for Clarke, at least to some extent. But neither of them spoke of her. They had spent two or three months referring to her without ever saying her name. Doing that would have asked too much. And when they arrived, Lexa had offered to give up her claim, as if she could do such a thing.

Lexa had given up everything for Clarke, including her life. If it hadn't been for Bellamy obliterating Clarke's trust in him and forcing her hand to make a plea to Lexa, would she have had death waiting for her at Titus' hand? Likely not. She can't bring herself to resent Bellamy or Clarke for this fact. She won't throw that in their faces. It's not Clarke's fault that Titus felt he needed to lay down threats to get his way. It's not Clarke's fault that Lexa had been so in love with her that she went against her people's traditions to change.

(She's still changed. Even now, the act of killing another has greater weight. It has since she first arrived in the Nest. Not all live can be preserved, but she has to consider the bigger picture when taking a life.)

Lexa's arms drop down underneath the table. It's hard to suppress the emotion that she feels right now. It threatens to burst at the seams.]

( Respect what it is that I see, Clarke. Respect the months I've spent with Bellamy. I've given up everything that I am. I've seen Polis burn. But none of that compares to how I feel here. With you. And what I am prepared to give up. I have been asked to rebuild my life from nothing, to listen to hopes of returning to a world that will forget me. That moved on without me. That couldn't even be impacted by my legacy. But what hurts more is that I live and breathe here knowing that while you make excuses for him, you can't bring yourself to do the same for me. And that you can't bring yourself to see what that means. ) [Lexa knows that it may be petty to put some of those words that way. She doesn't want to be let off when it comes to her mistakes. Her mind is open enough to Clarke that she hopes that's clear: she doesn't care about that, not really. It's just what it means for there to be a contrast.

Even in death, Lexa can't muster up the legacy to last forever in the hearts of her people and in the heart of Clarke. If anything, she's a fixture of what could have been, an icon that can burn rather than be revered. It's how her people manage. It's how she wanted her people to manage.

But it still hurts. It's a pain she's dealt with since she first saw Polis burning, and she can't seem to make it go away.]

[skaikru]

( the problem with inevitable heart to hearts with lexa is that she often spoke in monologues, striking many tumultuous chords that resonated into a symphonic swirl of responses; raises so many facts and examples that clarke scrambles for which to address first. she wants to first impress upon lexa her importance. the world would never forget her, if they'd truly managed to defeat alie as murphy had said, they would rebuild a blood-splashed polis upon the new ideals lexa had been willing to die for. the lack of any concrete legacy is no fault of her own — all the love and care with which she'd molded the young nightbloods set to take her place had fallen under ontari's sharp treachery, but the flame had been the key to their supposed salvation, and that had been a part of her. no one was going to forget that.

clarke wants to reach across the table and take lexa's hand, nearly makes a move to, but the other woman has already slid them under the table top. that small movement, a small physical withdrawal, only serves to widen the gap that seems to be growing between them, even as they sit so close. the effect is double edges, clarke's determination to bridge their understanding coupled with an overwhelming sense of powerlessness to do so.

she wants to draw up categorized examples of all the times she's had lept to lexa's defense; put her trust so firmly in the commander that her people had questioned her senses in the wake of the mountain, turned bellamy away from the throne room in polis, appealed to luna to finish what lexa had started with the overarching cloud that lexa was special, and her vision of peace worth pursuing. then of screaming and crying at jasper jordan, begging him not to destroy the flame, of letting her mother hang herself instead of giving up the passcode — though admittedly that had been just as much about preserving the lives of both their people than it had been allowing an ai access to what little she had left of the woman she loved. and here, she had defended lexa's harsh words to a sorrowful aloy, waxed poetic about her very existence to mat. were these events not enough to prove she had heart enough to lexa and bellamy in equal measure?

all those sentiments grapple, and they are alike; two worn shells threatening to burst with emotion heavy enough to suffocate. but diplomacy reigns; clarke wades through complicated waters to dig at the root of whatever resolution is possible here, and doesn't allow the tone of her thoughts to catch the blossoming dread in brewing in the back of her mind. )

( Are you asking me to choose, or telling me that I already have. )

[adamance]

[It's one thing to make several declarative statements in a roll, making it impossible for the other person to interject. It's one thing to tell allude to the fact that she's in pain, and another thing to say it. Titus' influence oppresses her even now. The man who revered her, told her she deserved to be Commander, made no secret of it, even as it was apparent that Luna was stronger to her—and the man who killed her for failing to live up to that.

Lexa knows it's unfair to put this all on Clarke while failing to say what truly needs to be said: that she's in pain. That she's struggling. That the months as a host have worn down at her resolve and hearing the person closest to her (aside from Clarke) still cling to hopes of home in such a way had broken down what little she had left. But then, she had been a raw and exposed nerve for a while. Something was bound to strike it sooner or later.

She tries to inhale and exhale with control, but there's a sound that escapes through the folds of clothing that makes it clear that she isn't managing it all that successfully. It's not a sound of sobbing or weeping, but struggling breaths, a point of no return.

Giving up Clarke (the act of giving up Clarke, the recognition of it) feels like giving up a part of herself. Loving Clarke, believing in Clarke, seeing how special Clarke had been felt like Lexa reclaiming a part of herself. It felt like defiance in the face of her people. Having Clarke meant that one part of her life didn't belong to anyone else. She could love. She could care. She could live—and she could try to live, even as her upbringing and training told her to let herself die when it was her time.

Living now is further defiance of that fact. She lives for Clarke and herself, well aware that dying had brought nothing but suffering to her people and to Clarke. She could both look at herself as a visionary, and someone who failed to lay firm enough foundations to live on. She was both Commanders in the end.

If she weren't sitting mere feet away from Clarke, she might have more control now. Clarke hasn't moved, though.]

( I'm telling you what I see. What I believe. ) [Even if these observations and beliefs are founded on her own pain. She's known for some time that Clarke and Bellamy love one another. It's just that right now it feels particularly hurtful. Neither of them exposed the nerve. Neither of them asked for Lexa to live this life, bare to everyone else. But the pieces fell in place just the same.]

[skaikru]

( that ragged breath is all it takes crumble the last of her defensive resolve. one whimper and the foundation begins to shake, stones cracking away to fall into the canyons between them; coral pink and dusty like the landscape slipping by beneath their feet, though clarke hasn't been paying attention to the skyline for some time. the expansive alien world around them has narrowed in on lexa, and now she stares at her hard, as if to peel back the layers of obstruction between them with the mere force of her gaze. as if to watch the map of exposed nerve endings on her features, as so plainly as she radiates them.

there's a tug in her chest, like each rib is wrapped individually with wire and all seek to pull her off her chair and further into the other woman's personal space; instinct raging to cup lexa's face and kiss her, chasing away hurtful beliefs and memories whatever sights that have been so horribly twisted to lead her to believe that clarke somehow shuffled her off to second place. and it aches, being unable to do so here. in mixed company, in the middle of a mission that demanded composure. a sharp ache, in no way dulled by the familiarity of high stake situations.

what little clarke can allow herself is dragging her arms from their perch on the edge of the table, seeking to blanket her gloved palm across lexa's knuckles where they're nestled in her lap. )

( I don't want you to be in pain, Lexa. Not because of me. ) ( again. amazing, how spanning universes to reconnect could lead them down the same path of lingering pain and bittersweet as they had trodden on own homeworld. ) ( And I respect the differences in what we see and believe, and what being here means for us — for all of us. But you have to know, you have to know, that I would do anything to defend you. Support you, protect you, carry on your legacy.

And if I could have died for you, I would have. )

( this is another way clarke griffin says i love you. )

[adamance]

[For Lexa, it's far more complicated than it being Clarke's fault or Bellamy's fault or even the fault of her own in choosing to take this path. It becomes abundantly clear the moment that Clarke's comfort arrives. Both her words and the grip of her hand over Lexa's are enough to ease the edge of the pain, to offer a temporary salve to soothe the festering wounds that have been in place for a while. To some degree, she recognizes that she's making Clarke responsible for how she feels. And to some degree, she recognizes that it isn't entirely unfair to see the contrast between how Clarke treats Lexa to how she treats Bellamy. But then, Bellamy hasn't been a hard person to puzzle out. Knowing why he does any one thing isn't difficult to consider. He wears his intentions on his sleeves, even when he fools himself into believing otherwise.

There are two separate concepts warring with one another at this moment.

The first is how Lexa feels. Her training as a Commander led her to believe that she had to suppress her emotions, or she would never be able to manage the losses of her people (and of those closest to her). Titus had presented her emotions as a weakness. Attaching to anyone following Costia's death would be a downfall. To some degree, she wants her emotional state to be resolved by something as simple as Clarke's words. She knows Clarke cares. That was never in question. But Clarke can't be the only pillar that stands in the way of the truth of what Lexa's death meant. Anyone can step around that pillar. Lexa has done that every day.

The second is what Lexa sees—what she's observed. Perhaps she's been too trapped in the truth of knowing how deeply that she and Bellamy care for Clarke. But by now, it's impossible to not see how it's reflected back upon Bellamy in a way that it isn't toward her. Again—again—Lexa knows (has known) that Clarke felt deeply for Bellamy, that she'd do anything for Bellamy. She questioned it early on as a means of understanding the tie between them. How Clarke feels for Bellamy is nothing like how she feels for Lexa, and maybe the question would be easier for Lexa to handle if it were a matter of pure jealousy. To some degree, she can't help but feel that Clarke's love for her is a matter of grief, as well, like something that could have never been challenged because it never lasted long enough.

But then, that's where feelings slip in, fighting with her observations, forcing her to try to be rational about things that she can't be rational about. If she could remove herself, she would. And if Titus were there breathing down her neck, she would feel the pressure to do precisely that. He's not here now, and she still feels the same.

So, perhaps:]

( After Costia died, Titus asserted that by having her in the first place, I was presenting a weakness to my enemies. That by having someone to love at all, I was weak. My feelings were nothing more to discard. To throw away. ) [Following these words, there's the flash of a memory, of an argument between her and Titus. The clothes that Lexa wears are the same she died in (the same she arrived in as a host). Titus tries to use Costia's death against her, reminding her that love is a weakness. Lexa forgives him, and the warmth she feels for him is muddled by the knowledge she has now—that even though she believed he was doing his best for her in that moment, she now sees otherwise.

It was the last she spoke to Titus.]

( Without Titus' help, I don't know that I would have survived Costia's death. Ironic, then, that the man who offered me the means to survive the death of my first love would then proceed to try to kill my second, to try to shape me again. )

[The gravity of her words is apparent. Though she can't meet Clarke's gaze, it says a lot that she's even sharing these words. The burden of these revelations has been with her for too long. Murphy told her that she failed to understand why Titus would be driven to hurt Clarke. It stirred up a different realization within her: that Titus had always wanted nothing more than to shape her into the perfect Commander, a perfect pupil.

And seeing Polis burn felt like proof that she had never been much of anything, like lasting proof that her legacy would be nothing more than a memory.]