What we build is broken

Crumpled and crying he let his father hold him just so, just enough until he felt like he wanted more on his own terms. He crossed the small distance between them and cried and cried into his father's fur. A prince born with a silver spoon was raised and cared for intensely throughout his childhood. Sheltered from the evils of the world. The evils of the world have caught up to him and the damage it could do - to a child even! - sat in his clinic.

Finally, the tears of overwhelm and grief abated. The skin around his eyes was rosy and puffy. He sniffed and pulled back his contact. His skin felt enflamed and prickly. He pulled away enough to give his fur a shake and then settled again opposite Mortis.

She couldn't believe him. It would ruin the world she had carefully built up for herself to survive. And it was naive of him to think she would be so easily cured when the scaffolds of her psyche were so heavily enmeshed into her sense of survival.

He nodded as his father kept going, but his brow creased in confusion, a little offended even but mostly confused, "Halfway? What do you mean? You're all my patients. I care for each member of the Armada and have to keep looking out for them too even when they're not in my clinic. I don't do anything half-assed." His father knew how hard he worked! He never started a job and left it unfinished! He was diligent and responsible!

"Speech"