Orla’s liberation comes at the price of the merc’s. The further they entrench themself into being used as an implement for her to use to her ends, the more divorced they become to themself (though, even that’s a bit complicated. Who is the merc without Orla? Her guiding hand. Her crook shepherding. Her word governing.) She’s building her empire; the merc’s shoveling their grave. But at the same time, her empire doesn’t necessarily guarantee her own (true) freedom and is, in fact, a kind of gilded cage in its own right. You painstakingly build yourself a palace behind enemy lines, with all the luxuries you can scrounge together. Give yourself every comfort, loud music to drown out whatever ghosts you’re still trying to outrun, good sex, good food, people who will jump to murder for you without blinking an eye… yet it’s difficult to truly allow yourself to relish in any of it for more than a couple fleeting moments when you know there are serpents slithering just right outside the gates. Doesn’t matter how much you fortify your house of cards, it can still all come crumbling down with a gust of wind. And what then? One king (queen) deposes another, Vapolis continues on. No one will mourn. Orla knows this. Orla is terrified by this.