I no longer wish to ask questions, for we are but ants, Sir Majima. [how's that for a casual conversation? Maria speaks with such matter of fact authority that it's clear her mind is long made up on what she says. Whether it be a belief or a conviction, she is certain of it.]

Our pain, our joy, our struggles... they matter not to cosmic machinations, too large to comprehend. [she shrugs back on her coat and reaches for her hat, fitting it on her head with care. With a turn, Mari lifts from her chair and straightens her clothing.]

Hold onto your fear, if you are comforted by it. If it gives meaning when there otherwise is none.