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xii. written
[ Lucrezia writes in curled letters, more like pictures than text, a little poetry or is it a riddle? ]
πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα χρύσω χρυσοτέρα
[ Meanwhile she is at the laundry room, seated on the floor with her light green gown spread about her. She has both hands on one machine, watching the colors spin through the glass with amazement on her face. Yellows, blues, greens and purples! ]
[ trans.; than the lyre, far sweeter in tone than gold, more golden. ]
πόλυ πάκτιδος ἀδυμελεστέρα χρύσω χρυσοτέρα
[ Meanwhile she is at the laundry room, seated on the floor with her light green gown spread about her. She has both hands on one machine, watching the colors spin through the glass with amazement on her face. Yellows, blues, greens and purples! ]
[ trans.; than the lyre, far sweeter in tone than gold, more golden. ]

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I was hoping we might speak about... an important matter.
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A matter concerning...?
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Addressed to whom?
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It feels far too long before she can manage a word. ]
And?
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And if I have none?
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Then you're thoughtless.
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And cruel?
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Ezio sighs and looks away.]
Only if you didn't have a reason for it, which I'd like to believe isn't the truth.
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You know the reason. You only wish me to say it.
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I can never have you for myself but if-- [ Cristina were gone, but that sounds terrible, so she just stops to collect her breathing. ] But I was wrong to hope.
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You are right in that you can never have me. Not with Cesare here, not with how Stephanie and Molotov feel about it, not with the way I could never make an honest women out of you. And it is never wrong to hope, dolcezza.
[Pause.]
But it is wrong to deny another for the sake of a hope.
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What else would you hear from me?
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I can't imagine.
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Ezio sighs.]
Does Cesare know?
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I could leave. It would be simpler.
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For you, perhaps. That would merely leaves me with more questions.
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Is that what I owe you now? Answers?
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that is the saddest thought process ever :( lucreziaaaaa
it's not completely unfounded ):
that's what makes it the saddest :(
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