“Oh, yes. He was turned into some kind of quaint little ornament. The giant shadow skeleton is how he normally looks.” He laughs a little. “We used to be assigned roommates. We became very good friends, but he frightened the stuffing out of me the first time I saw him.”

The thing about lonelinesses this absolute is that he would hope that Gaeta could never relate. To be able to be known down to the marrow, to bare the whole of his hideousness and still be cared for, that is the wish of his soul—but he has the Fuelweaver, and first he wants to be known at all. To be considered. To be accommodated without asking. For someone from outside to look at what happened to him and say, You’re right, that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry.

It starts with this. Gaeta will never look at him the same way again; good. He doesn’t mean to horrify, but there’s no way to say this without doing so.

It doesn’t make him feel any less bad about it. Reflexively, “I’m sorry. I know it’s… unpleasant to hear, but it’s… simply true.”