Shadewood Drunk Nights are more fun than Sober Ones

All at once, he felt his heart fall, his surly judgement and bitter selfishness  cascading from him as a shuffled snowmound would. It showed as crystalline as the gaze he condescendingly met her verdant own with. 

“Kukutux...” the murmur was a pained one, one which he swiftly had to learn his limits upon. It somehow hurt him more to be emotional than anything else. As though the Phantom were frightened such emotions would make him corporeal, capable of being ruined by lack of recriprocation.
He missed the days when he could allow himself to care so little of others and their damned pathetic paths of life. When he could simply do his job, collect, and move on. 

Raziel took a second, inhaling quite the breath before making his mind up. 

“I will not force you, nor Gwen, or even myself through such a matter, then. It’s not worth it. All of our burdens are heavy enough, as it is.”

It was true. Near everyone here had some sort of pst, and he was even more sure that none of said stories were pretty, in the slightest. Fairytales did not exist in this awful woodland, no matter how colorful he tried to paint it to be.