Hysilens' nimble fingers strum the strings of a lyre, her expression unreadable, yet her heart aching— that, according to the reactions Aglaea got from the Golden Threads loosely hanging from her palm. There's a silent understanding between them, a grief that none dare to voice yet both know it's mutual. A grief that has settled before the subject of it has departed, the grief of two souls irrevocably changed by one. "Little Seamstress." The Knight Commander, the Wave Strumming General, the Daughter of the Seas... Barely manages to keep her voice just above a whisper, lilac eyes not daring to look up from the lyre in her lap, as if fearing that the warm light above will be enough to make her tears flow. And that, they both know, is not the image she wants to keep. "...Won't you try, at least, to tell her otherwise?" No answer leaves Aglaea's lips. It's not that she deems her friend's question to be irrelevant, but because both know the answer. They can try, they can plead and they can beg, but the Imperator has made her decision. "I have tried." She finally replies after more seconds slip past them, each tick of the clock only bringing closer the inevitable. A farewell they have tried to delay, all in vain. Her eyes flutter shut for a few seconds, holding her breath just a little longer before continuing— she tries to put everything she's learned from the Imperator into practice, yet she can't fully mask the heartache plaguing her every thought. "...I fear to say that there's not much I can do either, Hysilens." And they fall silent once more. Squandering every second away, each focused on their shared pain. The rhapsodist continues playing the lyre, and the seamstress continues to weave a parting gift. How many times has she pricked her fingertips? Aglaea knows not, but by this point she has made her mind: one way or another, she'll finish this small present, lest she loses her final chance to try and convince the Imperator not to leave. "But the Holy City still needs its leader..." That had been her main excuse since she heard of the Imperator's decision, something that everyone —save for a certain Kitty— had fallen for. But how could she possibly bring herself to say the truth? Her heart ached with an affection she had never been able to fully put into words, a Romance that threatened to only worsen the effects of the Coreflame settled just above her heart. "If that is the case, then I promise to be the leader that Okhema needs." The Golden Threads differentiate truth and falsehood with precision, and her own lies were no different. Though Aglaea has always known that she'd do anything to keep the Holy City safe, she knows that if not for the Imperator's petition, she wouldn't have accepted such a role.