[ The vagueness slips away into outright discomfort as soon as the question is asked, and Dokja shies away immediately. There had only been one person that he'd confessed to about the state of his halved memories, and that had been in a vulnerable moment where he'd regretted it as soon as he'd spoken his truth out loud.
Eustace must feel it, too. The grief, the regret, the heaviness of his heart. Rather than answering with words, he allows his poor hold on his emotions to respond for him. There's no stopping it, after all. They share a connection that they hadn't before. ]
It's different with me.
[ He'd willingly given them up, and he wouldn't know what it is he's missing if not for his companions arriving in this place and discussing things that Dokja no longer remembers. It becomes more painful that way, the constant reminders of what he used to be and what he no longer is. ]
no subject
Eustace must feel it, too. The grief, the regret, the heaviness of his heart. Rather than answering with words, he allows his poor hold on his emotions to respond for him. There's no stopping it, after all. They share a connection that they hadn't before. ]
It's different with me.
[ He'd willingly given them up, and he wouldn't know what it is he's missing if not for his companions arriving in this place and discussing things that Dokja no longer remembers. It becomes more painful that way, the constant reminders of what he used to be and what he no longer is. ]
Mine won't come back.