[As Hythlodaeus begins, his eyes fall to the coffee in his hands, his eyes focusing on the rich brown of the liquid, and though focusing is not quite right. Considering that his gaze is not what's important here, but rather his busy thoughts as Hythlodaeus speaks freely as he was requested to do.

Indeed, his brow is furrowing by the time Hythlodaeus reaches over, and when he feels him touch his head, he jolts. Fortunately without the spill of coffee as a result, but he very narrowly avoids such.

The gesture is...haunting in its familiarity, and maybe that's the problem. He is being haunted by the ghost of Hythlodaeus, made by his own hand. Perhaps this was just another means to punish himself, to further remind himself of what he had been toiling for over the ages.

But he knows now that he has...given that up. That he has passed on the torch, and that Amaurot will never be. That Hythlodaeus will never return—none of them will, and it was his decision, his wager that would see to it.

Despite the continued conflict within himself, he uses his free hand to softly bat Hythlodaeus' hand away—much like he would the real one. It feels hollow, even if he does not mean it to be.]

It is still fresh. I still have...much to consider. You will forgive me if I cannot turn off my emotions like one does a lamp.

[A beat.]

That...aside. I do not know if I want you to play your part. To be candid, I do not much know what I want at all.