In the books and stories that Florence had grown up with, revenge never made the hero feel better. It never brought their loved ones back, and they were always, always, left feeling colder.
So the relief the flooded through her when she killed him, the joy when she looked at Howe’s broken corpse lying on the floor, only served to confirm what she’d been thinking for a very long time now. She wasn’t the hero of this story.
I literally just want to write a drabble of Jhin crashing a play and showing up to steal the show and maybe kill an audience member or two before fucking off having memed the ever living shit out of Shen at his own play, displaying his own weakness and inability to completely protect his citizens.