[ He tries to hold himself back, that confused grimace across his face, all teeth, but it bares the part of him that he knows exists, that monster lurking where he thinks other people can't find it. That the guilt fights to hold it back like a chain and a cage, while it snaps and fights for freedom. He doesn't even see it, does he? The way it strains against his control, fighting to be free. Even now.

His hand is like a vice on his wrist, while Silco's hand is a shackle on his. He's holding him in place, even if it's little to no force, it's still holding him here. ]

I could ask you the same thing. [ He pointed out, his voice a soft hiss. ] There's little advantage for trying to change a Zaunite, make us anything less than what we are, but you want to try, don't you?

[ It's pointed, but he answers anyway. Some of it. ]

You don't see how it holds you back, your guilt? [ He hissed. This guilty monster, trying so hard to bit himself as hard as he bit others. Wouldn't he be so much better unrestrained? Unfettered? ] How it kept you from them?

[ Even Silco had been honest (mostly) with his daughter. His single eyebrow knitted, the expression looks odd on his face — as always, like there are two different men here. He says he's not broken, but... ]

Don't you regret that?