It seemed that she lingered, unable to truly cut the conversation off; she could've just moved away, not listened to his words, his feeble explanations of confusion.. was it weakness, or strength, or..? Why did she linger, her voice coming out of a body he could not see, eyes he could not read; did she want him to say something that made sense, something that wasn't just tangled up in anxiety and uncertainty? He could feel his breath rise into the night, something hollow in his chest, yet it felt like snakes were nesting in his belly — how could he have messed this up, made it all go so wrong? What had he even wanted? He'd spent the days trying to not get attached to whatever grew within her, had spent so much time trying not to know what he wanted, for fear that she'd tell him to stay away, or that she'd be angry.. he'd never truly explored his options, because he did not want to hope, only to have it dashed. But, everything had shattered anyway, like glass dropped on cold rocks, and if he looked, would he see the possibilities wink out one by one in the fragments?

He didn't even bother looking for her, did not seek to pinpoint her body; she'd gone invisible for a reason, and he felt like he could respect that at least, even as her cool voice cut into his ears. Briefly, he even closed his eyes, imagining the silver flecks in hers turning cold. She wanted help. But what help could he possibly give, except ask her what she had wanted him to do? Wouldn't doing that be helping her the most? His jaws tensed, but he did not speak, did not move until she spoke up again; his eyes flew open, and for a moment he cast around, looking for her. "No!" he said, somewhat horrified, to the bodiless darkness. But at the same time, he couldn't help but wonder — had she? Or was it the play of light and shadows, the tug of mischief and the quiet laughter, the cold and the warmth..? What had he even wanted, on that night? What had it been, except an exploration of touch, of giving and taking? Again, he closed his eyes for a moment. It was true, that he would rather it had been just an act, no consequences, but — he should've thought of that, then, and not lived on false hope and regrets later.

"Look, Faelene.. No matter what, no matter how, I will love this child — there is no other way." His eyes had opened again, and he blinked in the shadows. Tamlin's conception, and upbringing, had been, if possible, worse than this, with Lotus whispering little croons and songs in his ears and filling it with foolish ideas of princes and power. He had been conceived by ambition and magic. "I know that... There is nothing, nothing, which can make me regret a child. It's just.. not a possibility. It's a concept which doesn't exist in me." Was she still listening, still there, even? He'd never spoken about his love for his children before, and wondered if it even mattered. "Not even the dread of what Lotus would try to raise Tamlin into stopped me from loving him from the moment I saw him.." His ears fell back. And then I lost him. Was it a recurring theme, his family abandoning him? Was it something within him, that drove others away? Like it had just now?

"I'm starting to think I am a truly horrible creature, for managing to always drive my family away at one point or another," he murmured, mostly to himself, feeling the cracks in his heart widen.