[ The ghosts of those boys sit beside them, unseen but present. Armand tries not to look too closely at them, at Arun's pain and Gale's yearning. Both of them taken and used and broken by hands that should have loved them instead. Devotion. A small word for what it cost them, for how little reward they have been given.

He hears the question that sits in Gale's mind. Did he let you want it? Not the first or the last to wonder at it, though Armand can't approach the details without flinching, retreating into the gaps between those jagged mirror shards of memory. The safety of oblivion, back behind Armand's mask. He sees the warmth of Gale's smile, the compliment in his thoughts meant for a different vampire entirely, but can't feel it, not in that cold void. He fidgets with his drink instead, pointed fingernails clicking against the glass, only vaguely aware that he's doing it. His voice is likewise distant when he speaks. ]

Nobody can. Not truly.

[ After a long beat of staring into the distance, a flat nothingness in his amber eyes, he stirs again. Blinks, comes back to himself, or at least appears to. He offers Gale a pleasant smile that goes no further than his mouth. Rashid's polite servitude, yet another mask. ]

I'm sorry, that was -- I'm not used to talking about these things. It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago.