[Chara inclines their head, faintly. There it is. A question for a question, and an answer far more cohesive than any explanation could hope to be. They are singular, as he is. If there have been lines drawn in the dirt, they crossed them long before arriving here. They burned every book. Spoiled every page. Sunk fingertips into the ashes until their nails were ugly, clotted with dark crescents of filth.]

Not as simple as a slogan on a self-help manual.

Let me put it another way.

[Perhaps they should consider this humoring him. He is making, remarkable as it may seem, some vague attempt to understand. Some poorly conceptualized, poorly implemented attempt on his proverbial deathbed, because he simply has nothing else to lose.

So humor him. Laughter is, after all, the best medicine. Is it not?]

If I were to forgive every person who had ever wronged me, starting today...

What possible effect would that have?

[They would not care, simply put. They would not have the capacity to care. They would not have any idea, assuming they devoted any brain cells to wondering about the child that scaled a mountain such a very long time ago, assuming they remainder of them are still alive to do so, that they had been absolved of their sins, free to live out the rest of their lives content that there would be no consequences for their actions, no fallout for the pair of children they murdered for the monstrosity of their appearance.]