In any other circumstance, Raz would have been delighted that Agent Milla Vodello was buying him ice cream. A tasty treat from one of his heroes? That normally would have ranked quite high on his list of happiest moments.

This was rather dampened, however, by the fact that it was an attempt to cheer him up after Sasha had failed to help him. Now they sat together on a bench in a quiet park near the ice cream parlor, with their paper bowls and plastic spoons.

And admittedly, it did cheer him up a little, but it didn't solve his problem. So he wasn't really surprised when Milla wanted to talk about it.

"Razputin, darling… Sasha told me about what's going on," Milla said (no surprises there; Raz had given him permission to do so). She paused, gauging his reaction, ready to back off if he seemed unreceptive. But he just looked up at her, spoon sticking out of his mouth.

She sighed. She hated having difficult conversations with children. She found that treats tended to soften the blow (thus the ice cream), but it was still unpleasant for all involved. She gently laid a hand upon his head, and he leaned slightly into the touch.

"We talked about it for a while, and we both believe it might be best for you to see a doctor."

Raz stared down at his ice cream in his lap, poking it with his spoon. "You think something's wrong with me," he said. It wasn't a question.

Milla considered her response carefully. He wasn't technically wrong, but the way he'd worded it carried such heavy implications. "We think there may be a physical cause for your distress. That isn't a judgment, darling. The Psychonauts can help with psychological sources of pain, but the mental world is shaped by more than just psychology."

"What do you mean?" Raz asked, his brow knitting in confusion.

"With all the importance we place on it, it can be easy to forget that the brain is just an organ, like any other. But it is," she explained gently. "And like any other organ, it can suffer from sickness or injury that needs medicine to heal. What I'm saying, darling, is that if something is medically wrong with your brain, it isn't your fault, and it isn't something to be ashamed of. It's no different than having asthma, or heart problems."

Raz gripped the edge of the bench, swinging his feet back and forth.

Milla tilted her head, interlacing her gloved fingers in her lap. "Talk to me, queridinho. What's bothering you?"

He stopped fidgeting to spoon some ice cream into his mouth, thinking as it melted over his tongue. She let him, just waiting patiently until he finally spoke. "There's somebody I, um, met… whose parents thought his psychic powers were a 'sickness' that needed to be, y'know, 'cured.' Medically. It… ended really badly for him."

"Oh, darling…"

"I guess… how do we really know what's… I dunno." He waved his hand vaguely, unable to articulate his question.

"I understand your concern," she assured him. "There are plenty of things we consider perfectly normal now that used to be seen as problems to solve – even something as simple as being left-handed. They used to say it was the mark of o diabo, you know, not that long ago."

"Exactly," Raz said, pointing his spoon at Milla for emphasis. "How do we know where to draw the line?"

Milla sat back with a sigh. "That is a very philosophical question, Razputin. And it is… bigger, I think, than either of us. But I also think that what's more important right now is to answer a different question." She put a hand gently on his shoulder. "Is this hurting you? Do you want to get rid of it?"

The boy let another bite of ice cream melt in his mouth. He recalled the chill wind sweeping over his mental landscape, much colder than the dessert and considerably less sweet. The dragon's claw over his throat, and the flash of her needle-sharp teeth as she told him to end his own life.

Unlike his powers, there was no part of Melancholia's grip on his heart that he wanted to embrace.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do."

"Then shouldn't you consider possible physical causes and address them if needed?"

"I guess so," Raz admitted.

"I want to be clear: Sasha and I aren't giving up on you, darling," Milla assured him, pulling him into a gentle hug. "We just want to find the best way to help you. We'll be here for you, no matter what happens, okay?"

Raz closed his eyes and leaned into the hug. "Thanks, Milla."