[ Bitterness, maybe. Exhaustion for the most part, a bone-deep sort of weariness that clings to him when he gets up in the morning, follows him around like a shadow all day, and crawls into bed with him only to hog the blankets. ]

Oh, so, Hadriel all over again, huh? [ Nate says, light and conversational over his cup. ] This must be Purgatory. Or like- the myth of Prometheus. Cursed to have your liver eaten every day for the rest of your li- you know.