[ As soon as her expression stills, the easy smile he loves so much shuttering away, he feels a fist clench in his chest, one he tries to combat with a hapless smile as he casts about the room, resisting the urge to simply sit on the floor beside her chair, to rest his head on her knee. (It doesn't even take a look, in the end. She could break him open with less.) She's set the right tone for the conversation — it wouldn't behoove him to pretend that it's any less serious than it is. ]

There's a part for me to play in setting things right, [ he begins, as he draws another chair near, though he's slow to actually take a seat. ] The discovery of a ritual is— momentous. If reversal of the effects of the separation of one's soul from one's body is truly possible, if some of that pain can be alleviated—

[ He stops — starts again, his gaze falling briefly to his lap, his fingers as he keeps them still, tries not to knot them together. ]

To test the process would demand the giving of blood from someone who has already suffered. And I can't ask for further sacrifice from anyone else — not even from you, my beloved — in good conscience.

[ Then, only then, does he reach for her hand. ]

So, I mean to die.