"I rarely come down here," Envy said, and the anger and frustration had drained from his voice, replaced by something quieter and more serious.
The tone settling into the inhuman sharpness. "But every time I do, I leave a little less than I arrived. A little less sane. A little less fixed." He held the stillness for a moment. "This time, my intention is not to leave quickly. Only to leave alive."
Dark looked at him.
"Going mad," he said, the words carrying the flat quality of someone identifying a predictable outcome rather than reacting to a revelation.
"That is to be expected." He tilted his head slightly, the gesture unhurried and almost academic. "Up there, in your ordinary domain, you take on stolen forms and whisper stolen truths. Sorrowed shapes. Sorrowed voices. The substance of what you become is real even if the origin is not yours."
He let his gaze move across the space around them before returning to Envy.
