"You say that as if your entire being isn't my mark," he says with sniff and a small giggle, shifting in Johann's hands as he tilts his head up and begins at Johann's neck and shoulder.

He is dead and his work is done and now he's in an impossible place. Perhaps muzzled like a dog, but acknowledged for his danger. Perhaps prisoner but no longer in a glass jar. And not alone.

He isn't sure he could bear this alone, not that those words would ever cross his lips. Not that he would ever acknowledge it even to himself. Johann would be absolutely insufferable and he hasn't been given a knife yet to even try and stab him.