delight feels... defeated, a little. defeated by his inability to solve, to lead, to do... really, anything useful. he feels the depression crawling over him like a rising tide (or, a part of him thinks bitterly, an avalanche) but he cannot do anything to stop it.
at the very least he doesn't have the energy to be anxious anymore.
the morwinyon spots malice and feels guilt fall upon him -- burke technically hadn't been his fault but his rational brain is turned off. she... looks as sad as he feels, though, and he doesn't want to ... he should check on her, right? he can manage that much. he approaches quietly, expression drawn, and chuffs a solemn greeting to the widow.
awkwardly he looks away, feeling suddenly like he's being vouyeristic. "um, if you'd rather be alone, i can go," the androgyne says quietly, "or we can be quiet and melancholy together and not talk about our feelings at all." or, god forbid, they could talk about their feelings, but delight doesn't particularly want to and something tells him malice doesn't, either. he looks back at her carefully, his expression weary but open, slightly tinged by a quiet hopefulness that they might steal a moment of companionable sadness.