They can be logical about the situation even if it does little to ease the gnawing essence of guilt. "No." It comes out a little quicker, a little sharper than he intends, and he eases himself back down. "No, she does not. Have you ever attempted to have a conversation with her about how anyone might feel about a situation?" He hangs the rhetorical question in the air for a moment, then gestures between the two of them. "She's worse than we are, truly. Even if I were to go up to her and say, 'Lady Cassandra, I'm afraid I've been tempted by a demon who, in the end, I chose to turn away from', what would that accomplish?"

Perhaps he'd get a slight reprimand, a warning to be more cautious. He doesn't know what kind of demons Cassandra faced in the Fade, how they may have impacted her or if she simply shrugged them off. Doesn't see how. Even knowing the demon for what it is, it still felt...good to look upon the man's face again, to lay a hand upon his chest as if he were real. Still knowing Despair was using that voice to lash out.

Malcolm sinks into his seat but his body language is still tight and tense. "We were lucky and strong both. We should remember that." Maybe time will make the pain fade. That's always the hope. "I felt very small." A quiet, mild confession. "Perhaps, in a realm between mortals and Maker, that is how it ought to be."