"I thought Alexa was who I wanted to be."

She hates, instantaneously, the edge of weakness that creeps into her voice. That slight whine of bewilderment, of being adrift and lost, rudder- and anchor-less. She is meant to be strong, to be frank, to be a beacon of surety and protection in a changing world. A place where her ward can find peace and comfort, where none can creep in or make afraid.

But that's the thing, isn't it? She isn't--can't be--what she was.

It is strange to feel so safe, is it not? Here, in the presence of one of the order of Hermes? One who knows who she was, who was a match for her even before Athena turned her face away? She should be panicking, fleeing. Not inching along the bench.

"It means 'defender' in one of the old tongues, did you know that? I found it in one of my father's records."

A perfect name for one who, even then, would not be the Pallas. A name that would not slaughter innocents, or intimidate the weak. She did not want to fight wars, but surely she could defend? Could stand as a wall between those she loved and those who would harm them?

And see how well that worked out? Surrounding herself with those who could guard themselves without her intervention? Barring her heart fast unless she judged the person capable of managing themselves without her? One who locked herself away where she need not care for anything but her niche? A fine protector, indeed.

She doesn't cross the last few inches that would bring them close enough to touch. There's a barrier there that even now, even feeling so safe, is too dangerous to cross. But oh, to think that Ramses might reach back... Touch, any kind of touch. A brush, a grasp, anything to tell her that things might be okay.

"I do not--" She hesitates, swallows, and steels herself. "No, I [i]don't[/i] know who I am. How can I choose to be someone who hurt so bad?"

Hurt others. Hurt herself.

"How can I even start that journey if I don't know in which way I'm going?"