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He knows full well you wouldn't be here that were an option.

He works himself up into a bout of romantic fervour with practiced ease.

A little prejudice builds rapport faster than truth.

Before he was insane, but sure of himself. Now he's in uncharted territory even by his own measurement.

There's got to be some other way to assuage his paranoia than assaulting an actual child.

You feel the doctor's stare on you, a ray of judgement and condescension.

This is right up his alley. Sadly, he's too paranoid to even listen to you.

For the people of Portofiro, the stars receded; austerity remained their orbit.

The slight smile in her eyes fades as she takes in the little card.

Could have been anyone who killed him, she means.

Alive, then. But in what condition?

Of course you were the best. She had nothing to compare you to.

She doesn't know what to say. She let Karolina down, too.

You try to imagine the casual workplace conversation of human traffickers. You fail.

Her voice a low hiss.

Voice hollow. She's not trying to insult you, just telling the truth.

Too harrowed by the memory to dismiss the compliment outright.

So Eszti knew the Eye had Karolina but didn't try to help, didn't even visit afterward.

It strikes you that you are both rearranging yourselves as strangers.

Lying to herself, even if she doesn't know it. This is subconscious spycraft.

He could pass for a simple drunk, waiting around for his off-licence to open.

Like the domesticated dog whose loyalty to his masters lies in his genes, even now he regards the Lich more with sympathy than resentment.

The images come to you, one by one.

Understanding dawns on his features, and with it something like peace.

Simple, obvious. The only way it could be.

A useless death. A small, fleshy monument to futility.

The feeling isn't even bittersweet. It feels like something that happened to someone else entirely.

No, no, no. This isn't right. This can't be right.

Ramses used to love this stuff. The perfect balance of pointlessness and grit.

She picks up on your sarcasm, your lack of fear -- echoes it, little cuckoo.

Something feline in his eyes, too. An intelligence, but utterly dissimilar from any kind you know.

Eszti keeps a special mental calendar marked 'Critical Phone Call from Hershel?'. The calendar has been counting for five years.

Also: Frigid, judgmental, and eminently punch-able.

The horror of bodily disobedience. The self turned other.

Knows you're probably lying. Lets it slide, like always.

Something tells you it won't get much better inside.

It was a harmless visit. If anything, you might have made them less suspicious.

Why not? A bit of socialising can open more doors than a heavy boot.

A house of suffering and loneliness.

It keeps them well-concealed, evidently. Sounds familiar.

Usually, not had.

The Opera's psychomancers had high expectations for your levels of 'It', based on their initial examinations...

It's not really your answers that interest him, it's how you answer.

A shadow existence, a purgatorial condition of unrealised possibility.

No more doubt. Just the bitter clarity of forever being the one it happened to.

Even the accusation that you overindulge in guilt provokes a little pang of guilt.

You might as well be compromised, with that attitude.

1,005 skill checks - ZERO PARADES field manual - Page 20 of 21