"I would say unique and beautiful sums it up perfectly," he murmured softly. "And you've no idea how far humans sink. Morality is rather like clothes I find... it can be well-worn, clean, and nice... or tatty with age and tear. And when it's sent off to the cleaners, it's scrubbed in blood, tears, and molten iron," he said. One of his many metaphors which made little to no sense to most. He traced on whip scar upwards, hands something down her sides a moment later, eyes carefully studying her scars. So brutal...