But they're our faces now. The dead are gone. Why do we have to live beneath their ghosts for all time?

[These things have been weighing on Lust for some time, were some of her last thoughts before coming to this place. She's never been able to have this sort of raw and honest discussion with another of her own kind before, and she's frightened by the strength of emotion it's stirring in her.]

It doesn't matter what they do, if we love them. How they hurt us or cast us aside or deny us. It isn't something we can control.

Maybe we all are.