( angela doesn't pause in her quest for their berries, sampling the ones she can as she listens to fearne. they all begin to taste the same on her tongue though: acidic and sick, as if the bile from her churning stomach has finally started working its way up to the back of her throat. her fingers are stained with the red juice of blackberries, with the choices she's made, with the blood of— )

The Library doesn't technically kill people. ( it's just as quiet, a belated reply, as if this isn't really the important part and she's only stalling on it but it needs to be said, anyway. ) A copy is made of them when they're transformed into a book and they're placed in a stasis. I don't enjoy hurting people, Fearne.

( she doesn't enjoy hurting people. she doesn't enjoy killing people. her feelings have always been complicated but on an individual scale some people deserve to hurt the way she has, and on a group scale it's nothing she derives enjoyment from. )

However, I never had any intention on releasing them from that sleep—so you could say they might as well have been dead. Apparently, however, it's a big enough of a distinction for my librarians to have gotten angry at me for not specifying it. ( at least yesod had understood, somewhat. it wasn't important. they had to be booked. they weren't going to be released, because that would be against what they had been booked for. ) It was related to my quest for freedom as well, yes.

( ...she'd end up alone at the end of that road... )

I... ( ... ) Did you hear this from Argalia, perchance?

( there is only one person who would have had enough forethought about that, that isn't part of the group who knows already. )