[/html]"There's nothing you could have done," came her reply, almost automatic, but Cassandra believed what she said. What could her sister have done but suffered with her? They would still have been outnumbered and outmatched. If Myrika had tried to help her at Matagami, the difference would only have been three broken bodies instead of two. If Myrika had tried to help her in the mountains, they would both have the scars. If Myrika had been with her a few nights ago... well, perhaps things could have been different there. But it didn't matter. The past was gone already. She preferred it that way.
"They're nothing," she repeated quietly. "And you're doing enough...Myri."
Though for a moment, where a minute ago there had been the urge to craft some dazzling tale befit an expert fabulist, Cassandra had the urge to tell the Infernian everything. To tell her sister of all the terrible things that had been done to her and which she had done in return; to tell her of all the things she had escaped by chance or luck or destiny; to blame her aloud for things which would never, ever be her fault; to lash out and to hurt her with bitter words, just because she knew she could, just because Myrika had a good heart still, and good hearts bled the easiest and the most.
But Cassandra, too, held fast her tongue. And instead she said, onward with her transparent lies, "I'm fine."
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