He looked at her, eyes dark and stormy under his bangs. He was clearly conflicted, and angry about feeling that way.<br/><br/>"You don't know me," he growled darkly. "You don't know who I am, what I've done, what's been done to me. There is nothing good left in me," and this was said with a note of despair to someone who was listening to it, "and I can't be good. People have wanted to kill me for so long---what makes you think that they'll<span style="font-style: italic">listen</span>if I try to speak out. No. No one will listen to me---they'd try to kill me on sight." He shivered. "If anyone else knew I was one of the children of prophecy, I'd be dead in a fortnight. I can't---I can't hold off the world. Not forever."<br/><br/>And something in him crumpled. He fell to his knees, dagger falling beside him. "I can't live like this," he whispered. "I'm so full of fear and hate and pain and I can't stand it. I'm so tired of being afraid, of having to watch what I say, of having to scrutinize everyone's every move. I'm so tired of it." He shuddered. "I'm a coward. I can't even bear to try to end my life, not seriously. My mother--" A laugh that sounded more like a sob, "my mother would lock me away forever if she could hear me now. Weakness is unforgivable, and cowardice isn't tolerated."