[His voice goes quiet, soft, unsure, and Alia – she nearly envies that. To be so affected by death and pain that it stays with you, that it haunts you whenever you close your eyes. She has never been tender-hearted in that way, much as she tries, only affected by death when it strikes too close to home for her to withstand. She thinks of the blood on her hands, thinks of it staining the sweet, solemn face of this boy, and banishes the thought immediately.]

I don’t think it’s unfair. Though perhaps that is selfish of me – I would rather have you whole and here, than fallen for the sake of a quest you did not choose. [Matter-of-fact, straightforward – Alia is a selfish creature to her core, and she guards her favorites zealously. The winding halls of this house would be emptier, colder were it not for Diarmuid and his prayers.

Still:] My beloved has a shop that sells teas and tinctures. If your memories and dreams torment you, tell me. I will find a way to ease them and let you rest.