(She turns her head to rest her cheek against Lucretia's chest. Despite her stubborn resistance to them, the tears are flowing, quiet save for a catch in her breathing every now and then. Part of her is embarrassed to be reacting like this but a bigger part takes comfort in Lucretia's warmth and solidity as she curls into her.)

I'm tired of holidays. And parties and festivals and all the things they do to try to make us feel welcome, to make this... home. I know they mean well but it's not going to be for me, it can't be.

(Belatedly she thinks that maybe this is a callous thing to say to Lucretia but it's a truth for both of them.)