No! That was never - 

It was. Always. 

She casts about, desperate to escape from insight. There has to be something else she wanted - anything else - ever - 

Oh. 

"Could I...speak to Siobhán again?" she asks the cat, next mealtime. She could probably make her request of the automaton, but...it doesn't feel right, somehow.

Perhaps it's the fear that having her last hope denied by a mindless servant would be simply too much to bear. Not that she thinks it in so many words. 

It's a couple hours before Siobhán arrives, when she does she's smiling as usual. She knocks at the door and when Salem lets her in she says "Hello, you wanted to see me?"

"Why did you - why did Starlight - bring me back?" 

"I've never met anyone who wasn't important, who wasn't worth trying to save. For you specifically, I'll confess that it's not just about saving you, if it was we would be having this conversation a century after your death instead of three weeks. We hope you can help us understand things faster than we could without you. Possibly with less harm done along the way."

In other words, to use me...

Oh, shut up. 

Salem's eyes shut involuntarily, and she shudders. It takes a minute, but she forces them open again. She still can't quite look Siobhán in the eye, though. Her breath comes in quick gasps. 

"What if...I told you...I wanted to die?" 

"That would be sad, and I would ask what about your life is both so painful and so unlikely to change since that's usually what it takes for someone to want that. If we couldn't find a way to fix that though we would let you. Choosing an ending is an important right. Forced immortality is a cruel thing."

a cruel thing

For so long, she had told herself - not a punishment, but a mistake - they would regret giving her time - 

It's been so long since she allowed it to hurt. 

Salem breaks down, sobbing. 

Siobhán sits down on a chair and waits.

It's only a few minutes, this time. The silence lasts a bit longer. 

So many years spent desperately hoping for a way out, an ending. Before the depths of Grimm, before the Darkness claimed her, it was all she wanted. Hopeless, despairing, against an immutable cruelty the world refused to see, she wandered, an exile from time. It is ages past now, long eclipsed by hate and brooding fervor, but she could not forget those days if she tried. 

And now - after all that time, after all that suffering - a chance to finally end it. 

After all the reasons to do so were gone. 

The gods - not unconquerable, no longer blindly followed. Ozma - alive, if ever he might forgive her. Herself - what? Where does she stand, now? 

What life does she live, when it is hers again? With choice so long denied, what does she now choose?

Eventually, Salem takes a deep breath. "I want to help," she says. "Tell me how."