Pen twisted in his grip, fingers rubbing against each other. Albedo seemed to take no notice of his own apparent agitation, just watched in a kind of angered anxiety for the man to speak. And then, he did. And that question. Could the man know how that very own question plagued him? Albedo's head tilted down, something soft and bitter, a short sound of laughter provoked from him. Not like them? (Not like them.) He had no idea. The better question would be the same pointed at them.

His eyes looked upward without moving his head, violet caught in the fringe of white. "I hate them. They're everything. All I have. Want. They could do without me. I'm a burden. They abandoned me. Worse. I'll kill them. Destroy them. I'd never hurt him." I don't want to be alone.

The sedation was wearing thin at this point, perhaps pointed out by the increasingly lack of sense Albedo was making. Backwards, yes, but he was always a contradictory child. Nevertheless, he had spoke true. He had kept his word. "So guess a letter."