After Nepeta speaks, Terezi falls silent, and stays that way for perhaps a bit longer than she should. She purrs faintly in her chest in an attempt to comfort herself as she pets Nep's back, ruffles her hair, strokes the soft surface of her horns. Could they be happy here? That's the winning question, isn't it. And the problem is that Terezi actually thinks that they could be happy in Asgard, but that simultaneously makes her angrier. Why did they have to be ripped out of their task in order to be happy? Why did they have to leave other versions of themselves behind to suffer in the same impossible task they themselves had been fighting for perigees?

It's too convenient. It makes everything else they've survived feels useless, and that makes her want to tear apart the stupid universe tree they've living on with her claws and rearrange it until it makes something akin to sense.

She sighs. "Do you think if someone had gone back in time and told us all--back when we were young, before Sgrub and everything--that all this would happen that we would have been different? Tried to be different?" Not been so ready to murder each other. Terezi tries not to think about that, but Vriska's face has been painted in her subconscious in indelible blue ink, blue as the blood she'd cried over while she cleaned it off her sword.