[ Root doesn't demand anyone else understand her faith. She doesn't need anyone else to share it, though she finds it annoying and tiresome when others can't keep up with the immutable truth that the Machine is trustworthy. But even with Harold she's gotten more patient over time at his lack of trust in his own creation, come to see that his caution with her is what had made her how she is. She can't blame Harold and worship his child at the same time, not when one led to the other.

That doesn't mean she won't push him along in the right direction, of course. He's so easily stagnant. And the Machine, and they all, deserve more.

Root doesn't take her own softening as a weakness; she offers it up without shame because there's nothing that can puncture it, nothing that can make her regret it. There's an unshakeable confidence to her that's absolutely palpable. Root isn't looking for approval, she isn't looking for debate. She's just willing to explain her perspective if someone asks. ]

I'm not worth saving, [ she says with total equanimity, ] but she did save me. She gave me a good death.

Well-- [ Root huffs a little in exasperation suddenly, like she's talking about an annoying habit a housemate has. ] I'm sure she wanted me to live, but we got past that little disagreement. Some things are worth dying for.