That's a Jo Harvelle paradox there in one: a tide of fire and brimstone at anyone who demands she be anything other than her truest self, and yet so bone deep it's effortless lying the part of someone she wasn't for half of most of her life and still skipping in and out of doing it, on her own, for nearly three years, with no one who truly knew who she was during most of it?

Yeah. There are some things to untangle in this place the longer Jo has to stand still.
When people ask if she's a mess, they should start with that leyline.

"Yeah. Sure." Jo's words are evasive against the thought that sprung into her head too clearly. "How do we do this? Do we imagine it up and try to see what it looks like? Or?"