Alexa had thought she was all out of tears.

Nobody had told her that could happen, by the by. She'd had to quietly pull aside--alright, chase through the vents and [i]corner[/i]--a Hermetic the second time it happened for some urgent questions. Had she broken them? Was there a mismatch somewhere? Did they need filling?  

But no, they assured her, that was normal. After hours and days of feasting, toasts, songs, celebrations, and mourning, it was possible to reach a state where the tears have all been cried. You've done everything you could think of, and yet still haven't done enough. You've tried to cram a century of love into a fortnight, silly girl. Did you think you had enough tears for that?

Still, as she looks around at the newly reborn Anemoi, she's glad to find she can still feel a tiny prickle around the corners of her eyes. 

It's bright and it's kitschy and it's loud, and every corner feels like a home. Everywhere, people laugh and talk--a hundred noisy conversations, echoing and rebounding, a sea of life defying the quiet-and-death-that-was. There will be no silent stalking here, no family bound into decorations, no fearful still.

And her cold stone is warm in Ramses' arms.

Without a word, she taps a wrist, and the tight--so pleasantly [i]tight[/i]--grip relaxes just enough for her to slip free and reach out for Zagreus.

"Always, Zagreus. The ship is small, but never so small that we can't fit more people wanting happiness."