[In the face of it now, the words are more difficult than he expected. They seem to sit in his throat, unpracticed, uncertain — all of his care and fine control washed away by the newness of their circumstances, how little power he has here to protect her.

She still trusts him, which is perhaps more painful than if she'd cast him out for his actions completely. He deserves condemnation, and yet she only turns forgiveness toward him, soft face and bright eyes and all the love in the world.]

Please don't — [a hitch, in that voice-that-isn't-his.] In the end, it will always be your decision. But... please don't give yourself to someone without certainty they will be kind to you. Good, to you.

[They have not spoken of such things since they were children, when the world was vast and strange and beautiful in its limitless possibilities, before everything began to narrow and darken. He knows that his sister has been desired by countless others, and he has never asked if she has pursued that interest. He has no right to know those private intimacies. Yet at least while they're here, with their precious faraway childhood in mind — if she hasn't experienced what it is like...]

Don't wait until you have no other alternative. Don't let the House control this. It should be your choice, and you should be safe. Comfortable. All right?