You horrify me. But at the same time, I horrify myself. We are horrible. — Hélène Cixous, from The Selected Plays of Hélène Cixous; “The Perjured City,”
There were deep gouges in the walls where she'd tried to claw her way out, when she was younger and didn't know any better. As she grew older, they just mocked her, bitter memories of a time where she'd had hope.