[Instead of providing him with immediate response, Beatrix takes some moments to attempt seeking solace in her cup of tea. For once, she doesn't have an interest in immediately arguing. There's no counter. No protest. No retaliatory comment. It's a little unlike her, but perhaps that's to be expected given the situation.

At his question, Beatrix lowers her teacup and for several long moments, she simply leans onto her forearms. Her gaze is focused intently on the table, though there's nothing particularly interesting about it. She'd like to say she wouldn't, but...

Hasn't she always been about requirement and duty? Doesn't she have any thoughts of her own?]

I would like to think I would not. I am here the way I am now because of the people here. Because of Zidane when he was here. You. And the others. There is no way to know if when I should go back that I will continue to be the way I am now.

[Eventually she lifts her attention onto him and she draws in a deep breath. Many, many things have happened recently. It feels as if she carries the weight of all of them atop her shoulders. She wonders how long she can keep that up.]

I have often wondered if I had to choose between my own feelings and obligation, which it might be. I told myself I would always have to pick my role over anything else. I think I am not as strong as I have presented myself to be. That perhaps, I never have been.

[Her faith in herself is shaken.]