And they're off again, he really keeps one on one's toes. That's a good thing, she thinks, it's a relief that he is taking the lead and her hand fits reassuringly into his. Mainly though, he keeps startling her out of her negativity. She noticed that he didn't have any kind words to say about her letting down her friends, but before she can feel even more miserable about that, he's pulling her along and admitting to being thousands of years old. For a moment she's in awe thinking he must be a highblood, but she quickly reminds herself that he isn't any sort of troll. Still, perhaps he's right... he must have been afraid of something at some point in all that time, as difficult to imagine as that is. What might it have been?

She doesn't get a chance to think on what scares him any more than she gets to process the truth in what he's saying about time and intention, before he takes a hairpin turn right back into her disgrace. Though his tone isn't mean-spirited or repulsed, and that helps a little. "No, all ghosts have those. Although they are usually white, not such a gloomy black." Just another way in which she is cursed to look different and more ghastly than everyone else. She sighs. "I have always admired humans, and trolls even more so, for their beauty and grace. Among other things, of course! Their appearance is not the only laudable thing about them, their cultures and social dynamics are so fascinating and complex too." She doesn't feel like she is explaining well at all, but she presses on anyway. "But I think they look so... gentle, peaceful. Nary any claws or fangs or bald skulls in sight." This time when she sighs, it's much closer to a shaky, self-loathing sort of sound. "They have stories about things that look like me. Those are never good stories."