As Sirage darts through the gallery, her head races with anger. Anger at pointless collections, useless old bag, stupid pyramids, that fucker Cepros, and Rypite, definitely Rypite.

He has the luxury of being right. Of being a gumdrop button wearing sucker who gets nice things handed to him on a silver platter. Meanwhile, here she is, stuck in-between barriers of her own making, obstacles that she crafts with her own two hands. Self-sabotage that she wants to gag herself for.

The truth is, she doesn't deserve good things, nor will she ever get good things, ever. That's what it always boils down to.