"It wasn't you who killed me," Canada murmurs.

She can't shake the words out of her head, Marianne's or her response. It makes sense, doesn't it? She's dead, dead, dead. Her heart doesn't have anything left in it but pain, and so receiving pain is the natural state of being. When she stands she's still so straight and tall despite the bruises and cuts all along her back that would have rendered a normal person a wreck. She just doesn't feel it any more, like a fish doesn't feel the water. 

All that courage. All that conviction when she stood up to face Shamash. It didn't seem like courage now. Just the absence of fear. The inability to feel it. That's not what's making her shake.

Why had she said it? It had been so simple when everyone had hated her. Now how was she supposed to redeem herself, when even her sacrifice would leave someone sad?

When Étoile pulls her forwards she almost falls. She almost lets herself acknowledge all the pain, the unexpressed and entombed enormity of it. She catches herself halfway, closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She had to carry the weight of the world, how was she supposed to carry herself at the same time?

She follows.