[the rage simmers down just as quick as it appeared, mellowing into some kind of low-key resignation and futility. The flower on her head has at no point stopped being dead throughout all of this.]

[She wanders over to the water's edge and holds her hand over it, testing the heat. Is this too hot to go in now? damn.]

Eh. What's the point? "There but for the grace of the Emperor go I," right? We weren't that different.