[There isn't any, she thinks. Saving her was never part of the equation. She knew that from the very start, and it only became all the more clear with each bell that she rang, the peals bright and clear across the never-blue skies of Faerie Britain.

Her pilgrimage wasn't about her own salvation. It was about resolving the sins of the faeries. In the end, that salvation wasn't about saving their lives, either.

... but it's not fair, either, that every faerie was born with sin. If it had to be that way, then shouldn't there have been a way for them to work towards atonement? Really, the whole thing is so, so unfair.]

... Well! [It's said brightly, but with the sort of worn down edge that comes of pretending.] Maybe I won't need saving. So nobody will have to after my pilgrimage is done.

[It's a nice little--ah, yes, a fairy tale. Just like what they're in now. A fairy tale.

She can't help but wonder why that's what's used to describe a tale that's warm and fanciful here.]

... Should we keep going? This fairy tale isn't going to write itself, right?