[ The crown is nearly pulp under her foot, but she doesn't stop– grinding it against stone and dirt in an almost incessant, restless manner. ]

So?

[ It's hard to tell which of her statements she's addressing. In the end, it doesn't really matter all that much. ]

I'm already dead, stupid. Can't want what you already have.

[ She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Like anyone should be able to smell the non-existent decay and dusty bones. ]

Consider it a favor– to help you loosen up. You look like you need it.