[And for a second then, he stills, like he's surprised by the words that have come out of his own mouth. He'd meant it as a reference to Rohan's Heaven's Door — what he'd said about taking away memories for the sake of making it easier on him, how they'd talked about whether or not he'd want those memories taken away in the first place. He'd meant that he doesn't have a Heaven's Door to reach into the book of whatever it is that makes Rohan who he is, and start making edits to the words there with a pen or eraser in hand.
But there's something that happens when you say words that mean more than you mean them to, and all of a sudden they're out there and in the air and become something that everyone heard, something concrete and real. All of a sudden they're out there, I can't erase the past, and he'd meant them as an excuse to Rohan but it strikes him significantly at how easy it is to say a sentence like that when he's saying it to someone other than himself.
It's never that easy when he's saying it about himself. So why is it so fine in one context and not the other? That's food for thought, isn't it.
I can't erase the past. The dead aren't coming back, are they.
He turns then, bringing his gaze up from Rohan's scales to look him in the eyes directly. His gargoyle changes have altered a lot of him thus far, but they've left his eyes alone, already so odd in his face — light-colored eyes on a Japanese boy, jewel tones instead of a dark rich brown like his father's.]
Neither can you, anymore. So maybe the best you can do is...
[An instant of hesitation.]
...change the future. You can't take it back. And if he was your first — what I mean is, maybe all you can do is at least make it so that he's not your last.
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[And for a second then, he stills, like he's surprised by the words that have come out of his own mouth. He'd meant it as a reference to Rohan's Heaven's Door — what he'd said about taking away memories for the sake of making it easier on him, how they'd talked about whether or not he'd want those memories taken away in the first place. He'd meant that he doesn't have a Heaven's Door to reach into the book of whatever it is that makes Rohan who he is, and start making edits to the words there with a pen or eraser in hand.
But there's something that happens when you say words that mean more than you mean them to, and all of a sudden they're out there and in the air and become something that everyone heard, something concrete and real. All of a sudden they're out there, I can't erase the past, and he'd meant them as an excuse to Rohan but it strikes him significantly at how easy it is to say a sentence like that when he's saying it to someone other than himself.
It's never that easy when he's saying it about himself. So why is it so fine in one context and not the other? That's food for thought, isn't it.
I can't erase the past. The dead aren't coming back, are they.
He turns then, bringing his gaze up from Rohan's scales to look him in the eyes directly. His gargoyle changes have altered a lot of him thus far, but they've left his eyes alone, already so odd in his face — light-colored eyes on a Japanese boy, jewel tones instead of a dark rich brown like his father's.]
Neither can you, anymore. So maybe the best you can do is...
[An instant of hesitation.]
...change the future. You can't take it back. And if he was your first — what I mean is, maybe all you can do is at least make it so that he's not your last.