"There is no need for jealousy, truly," says the man to Astarion, almost placatingly. "Truth be told, I should think I am the one who ought to be. I may be no one of any true consequence, but it beggars belief even for myself that our Emet-Selch should favor others over us."

"None of us choose to arrive here," he says, his tone lower. Warning, almost. Despite Astarion's objection, it's difficult not to speak to the apparition, here where the lines blur. "As the both of us can certainly attest."

"But you were weakened by beings such as this even before. Consorted with them, lived among them, took on their lives as your own-- did you not? Do you not think that if you had not made that particular miscalculation, you might be here with all of our people now instead, alive and well?"

His mouth sets into a thin line, one hand curling in on itself, nails biting into his palm. This isn't entirely like the man himself, there are edges to this apparition of him that were never there before, and yet--

And yet.