[He doesn't know. He doesn't know, and that's the worst part about all of this, the not knowing. He shakes his head, storms off ahead until sand crunches under his shoes, reminding himself to breathe. Breathe in the cool breeze coming off the water, hold it in, let it go.]

I don't know what any of them are planning for with the kids. I don't even think targeting is the right word. It's just--

[He shoves his hands in his pockets and feels the tight fists they form. It's got a neat little box tucked away in his head that every day he gets a little better at setting aside. Sometimes it comes tumbling down off the pile of shit to compartmentalize anyway.]

When you talk to him, he isn't going to give you any choice what happens next. I don't know if it's every conversation, I just know that he can, that he does, that he will. We barely started a conversation before I was ten kinds of smitten, didn't even question it, and we went to his room that apparently you can't find in the castle unless he wants you to, and it was like I forgot everyone else ever existed. Everything he did was the best thing I ever felt in my life. So yeah. I've got a personal vendetta. And I want to protect anyone and everyone I can from him.