Woman after woman.
Night after night.
Story after story.
Plot after plot.
It is always the same. Willing torture as you let yourself fall deeper into tragic love. It is a masochistic trait, but one you seem to nurture.
And one that pains me.
Every time you return to me, gold eyes streaming with tears that are never shed--is it more painful than if I had never first wiped them away? How presumptuous of me to believe it so.
It pains me, Master Cain, more than I wish to admit.
owari
But I have my own secret sin as well.
There is no greater joy then being your home.