An echo thrums through her and Misa sets her jaw; she has been like this before, kneeling in front of a different man. The memory is as comforting as could be expected. She tries to put the words from her mind, tries to focus on the floor she is sitting on instead of the one her Other did. It only cements her desire to make this different, to prove that she is different.

"I want to," Misa insists, letting go of Lazarus's hands to rest her palms against his thighs. "I want to show you, I'm yours and no one else's."