That, she doesn't have a good reply to. Maybe someone else does, knows how to bridge that gap between the fact that there are people who aren't the ones who did that to it and there are those that did. She can't cross that chasm, not in a night, not in several. It is a vast and cold distance.

But one can make a first step. Always.

The silence between them exists for a moment, a respectful breath of time to let its words carry their weight, to let it be known that she will not fight that assertion. And then, in a careful voice, so as not to jostle things more:

"My name is Helena."

An offering, such as it is.