Mercedes. Something in his brain leaked forward to translate--forbidden knowledge slipping magenta inside his mind. His eyes closed, lips tugged in something like a smile. "You're in the right place, then," he said, only tripping over the last word. "Mary, Mary, quite contrary." How does your garden grow?

Distracted but unfulfilled, loneliness churning in his stomach even as pain pounded a refrain in his skull--for this moment, Albedo wanted to sleep. The benches weren't comfortable, but he had rested in worse places. The Song itself was metal everywhere, but his resting spots were hidden corners and high beams. Softness was a luxury he didn't need. Like the fact of healing itself. His eyes opened, catching her smile. She didn't understand. It was alright. She didn't need to. She probably couldn't. His voice had lowered without him noticing; no threat thickened it, merely a pain of its own. "This pain doesn't matter," he stated, clear as fact. "This pain doesn't count."

He remained silent for a second, the haze in his eyes shifting to reflect a deeper pain, making him look older than he was. A minute passed, then the moment as well.

He blinked, dragging a finger to his mouth. Opening, he bit down on the side of it hard, sharp teeth tearing through the thin flesh. Albedo removed it, looking at it almost intently through his sedated gaze. There was a pause as a line of blood trailed to drip downward. One drop, two... More slid then, and then light softly glowed on the wound, shifting it away centimeter by centimeter. Albedo sighed, chest tight for a minute. He leaned his head back against the bench. So tired. "See?" he said slowly. "I don't need to heal."