[ There is a spark of unguarded fondness as Harrow recalls so much that she herself has enjoyed—it is remarkable, how much they've found in such a horrible place, even if it is in such small and passing moments.

Though for some time now, it'd felt corrosive. Like happiness itself was somehow eating at her spirits. Even so, when Harrow frames it like this, she is reluctant to let any of it go. ]

It is as you say. Perhaps purpose and sustenance are not always one with happiness.

[ And she had been at peace with that, before coming here. Her feelings are disrupted now as she leans against the back of the beach chair, observing Harrow. ]

...You are important to me, Harrowhark. I've long lost interest in the seas and skies, but if you enjoy the ocean, then I can find a new loveliness to it. This place makes it so I can't deny or hide that.

[ And that closeness—a fondness and comfortable sort of love compared to her feverish devotion to Katalina—sits underneath all her fear from this week, easy to feel but more difficult to accept, and impossible to obscure forever. ]

Your sadness was never my intent. Please don't allow me to cause you concern. [ She's not used to being worried over. ]