[He's quiet as he listens, as he stews in how terrible he feels. Even this feels like taking more than he deserves. Like he hadn't been satisfied earlier so he's dinging his hands in deeper, despite knowing how cruel his actions are.

He doesn't return the hold, but he doesn't move away. He just stands with his face hidden, coward that he is, folding his hands together and wringing his fingers until they're blotchy and discolored. It's almost funny, really, how terrible everyone else seems to think they are when he's the one doing so much damage.

What Mandricardo wants is only human. But he...

...]

"Even the blossoming flowers will eventually scatter. Who in our world is unchanging? Today, we cross the deep mountains of karma; and we shall not have superficial dreams nor be deluded"...

[It's a poem he keeps close, reciting it with ease.]

...My life will scatter, too. I didn't want those dreams. I would prefer to live without any vibrancy. [...] But I've been happy here, at times. I would never wish for anyone to be stuck in such a place, but...

[He's known more happiness here than he has in most of the rest of his life, and hates himself more for it.]

...You have made me happy. I'm sorry to repay you in such a way.