[A tiny, selfish part of her, deep down inside, can't help but be a little glad that Megumi doesn't seem to understand what she meant when she mentioned the game. It doesn't make the revelations she's dealing with any easier, but it is, somehow, a tiny spot of satisfaction amidst the rest of the turmoil. It'd been a silly way of phrasing things, a weak grasp at humor in an otherwise sorry situation, but somehow, it makes her glad that their silly nameless game, their unspoken rules, their competition--it's theirs, and not anyone else's. For Megumi to fail to understand that, when she seems to understand everything else so well, and she herself has been so, so wrong about everything...it's childish and it's selfish, but it makes her glad, anyway.
But she also knows, deep down, that Megumi is right. She's long suspected that Megumi is, at the very least, as important to Cain as Sam is to herself, and if it were some other girl misunderstanding things about Sam, wouldn't she herself be having a similar sort of conversation? No, Megumi is right, and she knows it.
But knowing isn't understanding, and despite it all, she can't understand, not really. Not the way she needs to. Not if it means having to sort out everything she's ever believed in and turn it all on its head and flip it backwards and--no. She can't understand, not like that. Perhaps she'll never understand, perhaps she just doesn't have it in her to understand that way.
...And yet, does she have to? Grandfather's advice, once again--if you can't move the board...perhaps you can move the nail. If you can't do everything, maybe just doing what you can...maybe it's enough. Maybe...for once, she can set that need aside, and move without understanding for a change.
That'd make it...rather like magic, wouldn't it?
Perhaps she'll just have understand what she can, and trust in the rest.]
You keep saying that, you know. That I'm light, that there's something so...bright about me? And maybe there is, I don't know. Maybe this is something I'll never be able to understand, and I can't promise that I ever will. But I can try, and I will.
But you've told me everything else, now, so tell me this: what do I have to do? Not what I have to understand, not what I have to think, not what I have to believe. What do I do, in order to let him keep that hope?
[It's an answer she needs to hear. That's what matters most in the end, isn't it?]
I think...you and I both want the same thing, in the end. So please, don't worry about me, and my expectations, and my--any of that. Just--tell me what to do. Please.
[It's not the first time she's said that, either. And she doubts it'll be the last.]
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But she also knows, deep down, that Megumi is right. She's long suspected that Megumi is, at the very least, as important to Cain as Sam is to herself, and if it were some other girl misunderstanding things about Sam, wouldn't she herself be having a similar sort of conversation? No, Megumi is right, and she knows it.
But knowing isn't understanding, and despite it all, she can't understand, not really. Not the way she needs to. Not if it means having to sort out everything she's ever believed in and turn it all on its head and flip it backwards and--no. She can't understand, not like that. Perhaps she'll never understand, perhaps she just doesn't have it in her to understand that way.
...And yet, does she have to? Grandfather's advice, once again--if you can't move the board...perhaps you can move the nail. If you can't do everything, maybe just doing what you can...maybe it's enough. Maybe...for once, she can set that need aside, and move without understanding for a change.
That'd make it...rather like magic, wouldn't it?
Perhaps she'll just have understand what she can, and trust in the rest.]
You keep saying that, you know. That I'm light, that there's something so...bright about me? And maybe there is, I don't know. Maybe this is something I'll never be able to understand, and I can't promise that I ever will. But I can try, and I will.
But you've told me everything else, now, so tell me this: what do I have to do? Not what I have to understand, not what I have to think, not what I have to believe. What do I do, in order to let him keep that hope?
[It's an answer she needs to hear. That's what matters most in the end, isn't it?]
I think...you and I both want the same thing, in the end. So please, don't worry about me, and my expectations, and my--any of that. Just--tell me what to do. Please.
[It's not the first time she's said that, either. And she doubts it'll be the last.]