[ He's quiet in the wake of her confession, staring at her as though he can still see through the mortal shell she wears and straight to her very soul. He can't any more of course, but he can remember the colour of her soul so clearly. After all, he's the one who picks out his brethren so that they may be raised to their seat again. It has not been so long that he's forgotten how she and Mitron met their previous ends.

Eventually he drops his gaze to the hands folded in his lap, fingers tracing idle whorls across skin. ]

Loghrif... [ he murmurs. He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a sigh. ] To think that Mitron yet remained self-aware enough to call to you despite their transformation. Truly, a love which knows no equal.