[Godfrey's response slices through him, and any semblance of calm he may have scraped together is shattered as he rises only to slam a death-pale hand against the table between them, and it creaks and trembles from the impact.]

No!

[Before tonight, Gale had never raised his voice in front of Godfrey, never had any reason to— but the distress of seeing him here, in the very place he had hoped to keep him from, and to hear him refute the very reason why Gale had vanished in the first place—

It was too much. He was not fool enough to think he could convince Godfrey of the truth, his truth, but he would say his piece. After all this time, he would speak it aloud, as he had been unable to do for a decade now, forced to bury his feelings deep and play the part of obedient pet, because what other choice did he have? There had been none.]

No.

[He repeats himself, and the very air in the room takes on a noticeable chill as the temperature drops, reflecting the ice in his voice as he fixes his eyes on Godfrey, his gaze dark and intense and unflinching.]

I loved you. I was ready to leave this place, go as far as I needed to keep us both from their reach, if you could have accepted me— and even if you could not, I would have thought it all worth it just the same.

[Because even now, he still holds onto the memory of that time together, of how despite the both of them doing every wrong thing and breaking every vow they had ever made, it never felt wrong at all. He had been dead almost two centuries, and yet he had never felt so very alive.

He has both cherished and mourned those memories in equal measure.]

I was never able to do what I was sent to do— I knew from the moment I met you that I could not.