He tilts his head when she mentions dread, and there's a sense of understanding, on a deep and too-human level, in his expression. It's not the same, but rather, like an inverse of his own experiences. Magic, the Gift, that little special spark in his soul, had always felt like this bright, positive thing. A beacon of joy, wonder, ecstasy. No matter what happened, no matter how bad things had gotten, it was the one thing he ever truly loved and treasured in himself. A beautiful core, surrounded by rot.

And then he came to Gloucester, and suddenly, it was tainted. All that joy and wonder and ecstasy was replaced by dread and madness. Cosmic collaboration gave way to transaction and service. And he still embraces it, in spite of those changes. It's still the core of him, and he still loves it with everything he has.

Still. Always.

But it is different now. He's lived both sides of the coin. And for the first time since his change, he feels an odd surge of grief twisting inside. Loss, for what magic used to be.

"That makes it beautiful, when it's yours," he says with a sincerity that feels strange on his tongue. "So, like." He grins teasingly. "Obviously that means you've gotta feed the fire."