[FILTER: to all wardens except her own. Sorry, Molly.]
I know I'm not very social, but I've become a little curious. How many of you were once inmates here?
[Amanda's sitting in a chair, legs crossed and hands laced together. She wears an expression of genuine, careful thoughfulness, and speaks as if a little humbled.]
To those of you who were, what
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I see. Thank you for your insight.
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And... that's a difficult fucking question. I'd say it's a process. You gotta realise the shit you've done isn't right, then you've gotta realise you've got another option. Then you've gotta realise that there's certain shit which drove you to that position - and gotta deal with that so you're not driven there again. Also helps if somewhere in there you realise there's consequences to your actions.
I... hope that makes some sense.
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It makes perfect sense. Thank you.
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Grand, I hoped it did.
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I don't know if there's anything left to go back to.
[She doesn't know if John's still alive or not; he isn't.]
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These feelings over my maker... I felt need to write him letter. Letter he could not read. But letter, all the same. Within it, I told him of these feelings.
And I said my goodbyes.
This was what I needed. Acceptance that the past no more held claim over me. The clarity to know I was within a cage not understood before.
But I needed to look deep within myself before this came to pass, lady. It took much time.
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Thank you.
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It was...both a process and a sudden epiphany, I suppose.
You're an inmate, I take it.
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