"So what is it?.. Tell me… What is it that you are forced to be which you know you aren't?" Tongue asked, her voice dipping low as she leaned further forward. Her palms pressed against the shimmering galactic table, the swirling cosmos inside it pulsing faintly under her touch, casting dim lights across her face. She stared at Razeal like she was dissecting him peeling open his chest, his mind, his past piece by piece.
Razeal just stared back at her. Unmoving and expressionless. only a single, small sign escaped that something in him didn't want this conversation to continue.
Slowly, he shook his head. Not in denial, but in silent refusal.
He knew.. that if he opened his mouth and said what was actually sitting in his chest, someone was going to get mad about it not to say going to take offense. And he would rather not deal with that. Still… he opened his lips anyway. A long breath left him, and in the calmest, coldest tone he had:
"I don't want to be a villain."
