[Caren barely rises to the challenge, ducking without resistance to accommodate his presence. Though they're only sharing a mental space, her thoughts press beneath his chin, like a hand extended to jerk the dog's head up by its muzzle and create room for her.]

What is it that I want? [She can remember, half-conscious, his promises of martyrdom, of something more - grandiosity that has never been within her purview or her desire.] You don't want to be absolved, but I accept your sin nonetheless. Should I want to punish you? Do you want your fellows to suffer and repent? What?

[So... what is it that she wants? In some other ways, the question is genuine.

She doesn't want anything, after all. What Zenith gave her had never been about what they could give her.]