'That's precisely the sort of thing you should be talking about, love.'

She stands and gets herself a glass, more for something to do with her hands than anything.

'And the good it does, well... Emotions are a sense, like sight or touch. They let you know where you are in relation to other people, in relation to yourself. Just as a burn lets you know where the fire is, that pain is necessary to orient yourself in the world. Without it, you're blind and deaf. You're numb.'

Idly, she looks down into the glass, swirling it about.

'I was only twelve years old when my parents died. Their deaths haunted me every day of my life. And well into the afterlife, it seems. Even now, knowing what I know...' She shakes her head, and takes a sip of the whiskey.

'We can't fix any of it.' That statement seems to bear her down under a heavy weight. 'But we can honor it. We can accept that it's a part of us, and that it's made us who we are.'