He told me once that he couldn't be my entire world. That it wasn't right for me to make him so, is what I mean. I was ready to. I had given up everything for him, I thought, so that meant he must be my everything. And he wouldn't allow that.

[She smiles softly, hidden to herself, as she rubs her cheek lightly against his shoulder.]

You both keep me from being just a life that serves others. Just a vessel to hold stories. You love me, and so I have to recognize that I am so much more than the mere desire to serve and preserve. You spoil me, and so I know I can always trust you to know who I am. Even when I don't know, myself.

[She lifts her head, then, and presses a kiss to his stubbly cheek.]

I need to be loved the way that you love me, Trevor Belmont. So I'm glad, so glad, that you do.

[And that, it seems, is a sufficient denouement, a proper wrap-up to this segment of the story, because once things are balanced (three lives, three sides, three psychoanalyses), it's only then that she's able to ease herself away from him and push herself weakly up to her feet.]