[ Molly hisses back as he's jabbed in the rather gruesome scar courtesy of aftermath of his death, pulling his now less low-cut shirt more closed. ]

You barely even knew me! I can understand Yasha, but the rest of you? Fuck. You've all been together for essentially half of my lifespan and you think I'll just hop in like I've never left?

[ It's hot, vitriolic acid, these words, and it's not making any of it better. ]

What am I supposed to talk to you about? How is that even helpful? Saying that I feel like I don't fit in any more is just going to create more guilt and people denying it. The fucking truth is you're all strangers to me now. New names, new bodies, new voices, new secrets. I don't know any of you and the only reason I'm back is because you somehow need to get it off your conscience.

[ Pause. ]

...and I can't live up to this saint some of you have built me up to be, taking my words as some kind of gospel. I'm an asshole.