Secondhand grief wraps one icy fist around her heart and squeezes the breath out of her. 

She's failed, she knows. Teach me, Cerberus says. And she doesn't know how to help her learn. Let me follow you, and forget, she says. And Alexa can do nothing but remember. This hurts too much to bear. Make me forget them. Help me not hurt anymore.

And oh, if Alexa knew how not to hurt, what a world this would be.

What do you say to someone who, with all the earnestness and face of a puppy, has just asked you to help them die?

No. That's the wrong word. This isn't death. She has to hold to that, has to hold to the idea that after all of this, this isn't a goodbye forever. The Lethe will rinse her friends clean, but… they will come back.

She hopes.

But still… Something will emerge on the other side of that rift that looks like Cerberus, but shares nothing with her. No memories, no pain of abandonment, no love for the woman who wronged her.

And that feels an awful lot like death.

"That… isn't my decision to make."

Because it isn't. Just as it isn't hers to take, life isn't hers to force on someone else. If, a year ago, someone had told her there was a way to forget and had forbidden her entrance, she'd never have forgiven them.

But knowing what she knows now… Knowing what she became, what she can yet become…

"I don't know your heart, Cerberus. I don't know your story. I don't know why they left, and why you stayed. Would love to! Offer of listening ears still stands! I would like nothing more than to learn about you, become friends with you. If you decide to cross the rift, I will stand behind and respect your decision.

"But if you're asking to come specifically with [i]me,[/i] you should know I'm not crossing the rift."

And from there, it all spills out. She can't sit here, and not tell her why. Can't not tell her [i]why[/i] she understands wanting to not exist anymore. The stories tell about Molech, tell about her, but don't mention what it does to you. A year ago, she'd be sprinting towards that river. A year ago, she'd have signed up for this crew if she knew there was a chance to forget. 

Talks about how it still hurts, some days. She still remembers. She was the Pallas, and no amount of forgetting will change that. But sometimes, she can fill herself with enough other things that… it hurts less. She can bear to be Alexa--can even enjoy it, most days! Can move on, and learn from the pain.

"I do think you're right to leave," she admits. "Being here… it seems like it's hurting you. It's that old collar, worn through, chafing. Whether it's through the Rift or with the rest of us, you need to kick that collar off. Things do get better, but only once you get away from the things hurting you, and give yourself a chance to heal."