"Is it not my right to decide if an offense has been done?"

Daniel's skin against his borrowed flesh is sun-warm, and he smells like heat and sand and centuries-old dust. The sheer detail-- is it because of his Ascension that his dreams are so intricate, is there something in his mind now that makes it different from other humans?

He raises a hand to cup Daniel's unshaven cheek, rough against his palm from a day's worth of growth.

"I do not blame nor begrudge you for my death. There is no need for you to seek my forgiveness."