[Qrow doesn't believe him. He wants to. His heart cries out for it, for reconciliation with this man who he loved so much.

Maybe if Ozpin had apologized for all the lies. Maybe if he'd sworn he wouldn't do it again, or at least to try. Maybe if he hadn't met all of Qrow's raw feelings--vulnerability above and beyond anything he's ever shown anyone, including his own nieces--with excuses and placation.

Ozpin continues to ply him with these kind words about the value and meaning to his life and efforts, and all Qrow hears is more of the same lies. They don't hurt less just because they look beautiful. Like the thorns on a rose.]

I don't know what I believe anymore.

[There isn't anger to those words as he says them. They're not spit out in rage or out of spite. He doesn't shake when he says them. But there's a deep, interminable sadness to them, like an old scar that aches when the weather is bad.]

...The strong survive, the weak die. Those were the rules, in the tribe. I didn't learn how to care about humanity until Beacon.

[Once upon a time, an old man reached out his hand to a dusty old crow and opened up a whole new world. It had been his favorite fairytale.]

I learned for you.