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They tell Anna all about her before they send her to the station, her purpose sharpened and her hollow nature hidden clandestine behind transports and promises and sirensong lures. She is different in person than Anna had expected; Anna supposes the previous inhabitant of her body would find the woman beautiful, but this Anna only sees an abomination in the place of a strong warrior—one who surrenders based on superstition as opposed to finishing their duties to the universe. No; this Delenn will not worm her way inside of Anna, and she will not be a threat to the cause.
Anna watches Delenn as the globe in her sick, trembling hands shatters and fragments on the floor, the liquid spilled out sad like younger race innards. Anna’s own shadow envelops Delenn's figure on the wall, the way it should be, Anna eclipsing over Delenn to bite down, to swallow, to suck and spit. What she feels isn't jealousy—it could never be jealousy when she has all she needs with the machine. It's more like—-
Minbari don't typically have hair, but Delenn is different, a merging of two inferior existences—as if that means anything, as if kneeling to the lower nature of humanity is some kind of honor or achievement. They could have won the war and forged a path into victory, into a higher, transcended existence; they chose to give up. They will forever be what Anna once was-- a nothingness, bared to the unpredictable forces of the galaxy, cut open and displayed in anatomical position to be gawked at for the next few eternities until the keepers of their memory, too, are stomped away.
But Delenn's hair reminds her, for a moment, of the machine, of Z'ha’Dum, of the intimacy inherent to merging with a greater paired consciousness. When she sees Delenn frown at her she feels the machine frown at her—and Anna wants to take from Delenn what has been ripped away, some rightful redeeming venegance.
