[Astarion notes the silence in answer to his first question. Yet the silence doesn't sting. It's only confirmation of what he knows about himself, a piece of the broken person he is that falls into place. It fits, it resonates. But just as much as it feels right, it tears at him, dragging its filth and jagged edges across everything it touches. Like closing skin over a dirty wound, letting grit and soil burn as he tries to knit himself back together.

He looks down to Gale's hand and his own, the anger still burning red inside him. But it isn't Gale who deserves his rage. Gale who helped him find this piece, broken as it is, and let him recognize it for what it is. He releases Gale's wrist only enough to close his hand around Gale's, holding tightly to him. There's a violence to his voice when he speaks, a darkness only found in mixing the pitch black of anger with the aching void of loss.]

You deserve it, that's why. You had your heart hung on a goddess with no concept of how to appreciate you within your physical form.

I want to show that to you. I know how it can feel. I want it to feel that way again. But every time, I lose my grasp on it. It slips away from me and it's no longer mine anymore.