( To Wight, the idea of being beautiful is utterly laughable. Maybe he's alright at first glance -- if you're into the malnourished type, anyway. Dig any deeper and it's a nightmare. )

I don't know what you might want to know... ( There's a lot. So much so that sometimes it feels like he's suffocating. Is it okay to talk openly here? No, he can't be sure yet. He can't be so trusting so quickly. ) Where I come from it's very...cold. There are the undead...they've been there as long as I've been alive...

( Wight's vision flits back down to the hand still holding his. It feels very reassuring, very good. Outside of his sister, he can't remember the last time someone touched him for so long...feels kinda weird, man. ) Is there a reason you're still...?