[And that's all it really comes down to. She'll die, and Diana is dead, and yet Robert won't be here, so it's fine. She doesn't want to die, no, but she's done it before; it won't be so bad. She'll die, and maybe she'll be resurrected again and maybe she won't, but Robert will keep going.
That's all it really comes down to, in the end.
That's all her life ever really comes down to, doesn't it?
Selling her soul to Comstock. Buying an infant. Building the tower, keeping Elizabeth locked away for eighteen years, performing horrifying task after task after task in that hideous false utopia, always ignoring her own conscience, because it meant Robert would be safe. Robert would be here, next to her, right where he should be, always at her side, loving her, guiding her, giving purpose and meaning to her life as only her work had ever done before.
A thousand memories flood through her as she stares at Shintaro. Robert, bloody and injured, his mind rebelling against him, grasping for her from their shared bed. Robert, smiling and laughing as he juggled for a group of children, eagerly watching her to see a hint of a smile. Robert, sixteen and gasping in joy as he first contacted her. Robert, his face tired and worn, blackmailing her into doing the right thing, hating himself but hating being the villain more.
He wouldn't have survived a place like this. He wouldn't have had the heart to murder an innocent to keep someone safe, no matter that it had to be done. He's too good a person for it.
But Rosalind isn't.
(Another memory, soft and faint: just think of it, Rosie . . . a baby of our own. Not now, not yet, but once you're ready . . . wouldn't that be something? They'll never have that adventure now, and she regrets that. But even she can't accomplish everything.)]
If you don't understand that, you won't understand anything that's happened here. There are people worth dying for.
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[And that's all it really comes down to. She'll die, and Diana is dead, and yet Robert won't be here, so it's fine. She doesn't want to die, no, but she's done it before; it won't be so bad. She'll die, and maybe she'll be resurrected again and maybe she won't, but Robert will keep going.
That's all it really comes down to, in the end.
That's all her life ever really comes down to, doesn't it?
Selling her soul to Comstock. Buying an infant. Building the tower, keeping Elizabeth locked away for eighteen years, performing horrifying task after task after task in that hideous false utopia, always ignoring her own conscience, because it meant Robert would be safe. Robert would be here, next to her, right where he should be, always at her side, loving her, guiding her, giving purpose and meaning to her life as only her work had ever done before.
A thousand memories flood through her as she stares at Shintaro. Robert, bloody and injured, his mind rebelling against him, grasping for her from their shared bed. Robert, smiling and laughing as he juggled for a group of children, eagerly watching her to see a hint of a smile. Robert, sixteen and gasping in joy as he first contacted her. Robert, his face tired and worn, blackmailing her into doing the right thing, hating himself but hating being the villain more.
He wouldn't have survived a place like this. He wouldn't have had the heart to murder an innocent to keep someone safe, no matter that it had to be done. He's too good a person for it.
But Rosalind isn't.
(Another memory, soft and faint: just think of it, Rosie . . . a baby of our own. Not now, not yet, but once you're ready . . . wouldn't that be something? They'll never have that adventure now, and she regrets that. But even she can't accomplish everything.)]
If you don't understand that, you won't understand anything that's happened here. There are people worth dying for.