[ he doesn't need them. he doesn't need the weight of it in his pocket... the lifeline, reminder, curse that she left him with. he doesn't need it, even if he wonders if he would've kept it with him if he had— ]

You're dead. You're dead. You'll be dead. I won't— I don't need that anymore.

[ —no. no. right. all he needs is this feeling, this resolution, like before, and... ]

All I need is to drive a knife into your heart. Again and again and again.

[ it's a promise!

a promise he'll leave her with, as he won't respond further. not until he grabs a knife of his own to meet her at their New Place.

it takes a little bit, but it's a thrice repeated image: such clear traces of hatred in his gaze as he looks up at her from the base of a hill, just like every time before.

(and, umm. here's the icon, does he get a stagger in) ]