The scene doesn't change. It is still Mackenzie sitting there, consumed by her rage and grief and guilt, clinging to the cooling body of her family and weeping. But there's another Kenzie here now, standing red-eyed and weary next to Stacia.

"...You shouldn't have had to see this," she whispers, hoarse and unhappy. "This is some Jorgmund fuckery, this is mine it's not for anyone else to gawk at, fucking godammnit." Her voice cracks and she breaks into tears along with her memory-self, her face buried in her hands. Slowly, she folds in on herself, hunching down into a crouch and wailing her grief. Her pain. Her loneliness.

"He should have died somewhere green at least! Mother, why? Why did I have to fucking live?"