[From the way Hector frames his answer, Isaac finds himself understanding it better than he wants to. A desire to be useful to someone had fed into his fierce loyalty to Dracula; if he couldn't find any love in the world for him, he had told himself, then he'd settle for being needed, grasping desperately for and surviving on pity-scraps of acknowledgement. There's nothing to show for the years wasted on a soulless vampire, years of self-sacrifice and stringing himself along with hopeful delusions, but bitterness, and bruises to his ego that still ache as freshly as they day they were laid.
It's almost too raw still, even now.
He lets Hector's answer sit with him a while, scraping his nails lightly over stone.]
...And this you would do for the Belmont? [He drawls, skeptical, planting a foot up on the rim. Steam rolls off his unflushed skin.]
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It's almost too raw still, even now.
He lets Hector's answer sit with him a while, scraping his nails lightly over stone.]
...And this you would do for the Belmont? [He drawls, skeptical, planting a foot up on the rim. Steam rolls off his unflushed skin.]