[ He awkwardly stands here, unsure of how to feel. It's certainly one thing to remember what he'd done, and another thing to see it from a third's eye perspective, see the look on his face as he practically turned Riccardo's insides to soup, the cold fury and rage. He's been angry. He'd never been that angry. He'd wondered if that was just something he could always do, lying somewhere in him, only awoken when Riccardo forced his hand. Now he's even less certain.

The only reason he doesn't pull away here is because he has just enough awareness to know that he would be a hypocrite in doing so. He can't say all he said to Anders and then refuse to hear it back. It'd prove he doesn't really believe what he says. He closes his eyes. And breathes. Settle tremours of the memory being dredged up, calm down. ]

She is... my only family. And she had a chance to live a normal life. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy.

[ And he fucked it up. ]