The righting of wrongs to which the victims have become accustomed. The logistical difficulties in defying the mandates of a Judgment?

Light that is law. Legions of precisely crafted, utterly loyal servants. Plots and plans of many layers and great intricacy. Well-justified paranoia. The patience of a star.

The location of a critical resource within the domain of an opponent? The confluence of two lights, with the locally stronger overriding the former. Light that is life and not law. 

A lack of knowledge on a subject one has not encountered/considered before.

...The crushing lethargy of shame and grief.

(A description of a hidden nook in the sealed and forgotten depths of a great complex, now put to a use it was not originally intended for, with many secrets deemed irrelevant and forgotten...)

Stealthy motion through the territory of an enemy. The experience of wholly novel sensations, providing information in the absence of context?

Openness to new information. Permission to record?

The scrive-spinster locates a relatively blank sheet of parchment and readies its arm-sized pen.

Enthusiastic permission to record! 

She

GLOWS

The scrive-spinster writes rapidly enough that it should be a scribble, but no, it's perfectly neat elegant and flowing script - not Correspondence but some less cosmic language - as its wounds are healed its fatigue lifted the malaise around her mind receding - it doesn't take away the grief, the soul-sucking loss, but it makes her strong enough to bear it without opening the wound afresh - then she deliberately claws herself, then stabs, then more clawing, in half a dozen variations and strengths, without pausing in the writing at all. Then she stops harming herself- But keeps writing.

Astonishment;

A particularly complex sigil- The detailed report of one who was miraculously healed.

(Still writing. Fetching another piece of parchment.)

The heartfelt, bone-deep belief, permeating every cell of one's body and every wisp of one's soul, that everyone, no matter their place on the great chain or in society, ought to exist with happiness and self-determination.
 

Light that heals. An observation that Judgements are very, very bright.

...An observation that Judgements are not easily convinced of things.

The feeling of being much saner than before. The suggestion that one's sisters, if healed, would turn themselves to less destructive ends.

The distinction between difficulty and impossibility. The retention of a property by tissues past the tissues' separation from the vital organism. Jagged shards of glowing stone, to be distributed among one's fellows.

The properties of a being retained in its parts? Fascinating.

Acceptance of a duty to restore one's fellows. The existence of members of one's kind in many distant places. The requirement of many such parts referred to earlier.

Lucy grasps one of her claws in the other like a lobster cracker and squeezes mercilessly. Several giant shards of diamond and many, many smaller slivers crack off and spin out into space, as well as a significant volume of luminous blood. She releases the claw, making nonverbal hissing noises at the pain, as the flesh and shell regenerate under her own healing influence. 

The deep gratitude of one with renewed purpose. The notion that another's purpose (the heartfelt bone-deep etc.) has been advanced.

The scrive-spinster begins collecting up the pieces.

Pleased confirmation of an expressed supposition. 

Once the Scrive-Spinster has finished collecting luminous exoskeleton shards, Lucy resumes her trek to the transit point. 

Nothing else interrupts her transit back to Albion. Though there is a line of engines waiting for the Transit Relay, with all the extra security slowing things down, now.

Obnoxious of them. 

She goes small and scrawls sigils to deflect notice all over herself before tucking herself between the cars of a train that's passed inspection. 

She doesn't seem to be noticed and soon she transits successfully.

The air is noticeably cleaner than when she first arrived here.

Well that seems like a pleasant side effect. 

She heads back to the workworlders' refuge, keeping an eye out for significant changes. 

They've set up fake cannons that look reasonably convincing from a distance if one is not a Messenger, and several of the factories are belching smoke. There's a tram running into their cave habitation and ventilation equipment built near the entrance. The rowhouses they've been building are more complete.

She lands and dresses and looks around for anyone who isn't busy. 

There aren't many of those! Some people are having lunch. Or dinner. Or breakfast. It's all gruel and fresh fruit, either way. Many of them try to thank her for their second chance!!

"You're welcome! What do you know about scrive-spinsters?"

Mad titans made of wood who attack any engines that stray too close but mostly don't chase for long - unless you have pages from the ancient books of Eleutheria! Then they get super mad! Also, a pretty tough fight, but not insurmountable for a prepared and canny captain. Well, just one is. Two or three? Or a Senior Scrivener? Run.

"So it turns out--I don't actually know if it was starlight that did it but I suspect so, honestly, have I mentioned I can fix starlight-madness? Anyway, I had a very interesting conversation with one after I nudged them away from attacking a train."