Dyssia chews her own cup of coffee slowly, eyes fixed on nothing so much as the inside of her own head. 

"Somehow, that makes this so much easier," she finally says, and adds more sugar to her mug.

"Because you're not wrong, you know? All this time, I thought it was…"

She shrugs, not meeting Hestia's gaze, and contemplates her mug.

"I [i]did[/i] think it was me. That I was, you know. Broken. That I was spending all this time fighting a system that others found acceptable, and maybe so were the Publica, and while I wasn't gonna let that [i]stop[/i] me from fighting, I also kind of. 

"You know, kind of hoped? Like, at some point, I'd figure things out. See the big picture. Have the moment that has me sprinting from a bathtub, crying *'Eureka!'*"

Carefully, unbidden, she tops up Hestia's mug, and pulls a biscuit from what her fingers insist is the wrong drawer.

"But it's the whole thing. It's broken for [i]everyone.[/i]"

What even is the point? So much time, so much effort.

"It's a system that serves no purpose except its own continued existence. It's a system that demands everyone deny themselves, subjugate themselves, abase themselves before the might of capital-C Civilization because the alternative is letting go. Because, having spun up the engines of empire, they've found no more worlds to conquer--or, you know, none they [i]can[/i] conquer, which is surely the same thing in the end--and have spend the last two hundred years doodling pictures in the sky for no other reason than to have something, [i]anything[/i] that makes things feel like they have a point."

She stares at the dregs of her cup, and drains them.

"That makes wishing its spine broken so much easier."