Claudius chokes back a sob. Oh, he thinks. There it is. The tonic Dionysus gave me must be taking effect. It feels awful but only because everything is awful. His body feels tired. His eyes feel wet. His heart feels utterly empty, and yet crushed with pain. "I don't want to lose what we have here," he says. It feels so frustratingly petty and small. "I love this place. I love the astonishing variety of people who come through here. I love ..." He almost laughs. "I love listening to someone badly explain one of their celebrations, the same way I loved to walk through cities where I only half knew the language, and learned it as I went. But what if I was only ever meant to live out a tragedy?"