Again, he shakes his head. Wrong again. He doesn't want to go into more detail, not one bit, but Dante can recognize that he's not explaining this well enough to get the point across.
"I don't... think he did," he admits, taking a long, deep breath to steady himself. "That witch I mentioned... she'd made a deal with him. If he helped her, she'd help him find the girl he was looking for. I... he kidnapped someone. A princess. I remember--he brought her this princess, and she had a ship waiting to take him to where his friend was."
His eyes close as he remembers the conversation between him and the woman, remembering that first inclination of something being wrong with the stuff he remembered. "I asked her what the catch was. She said... she said that I was like a son to her, that she only wanted me to be happy." Dante reopens his eyes, looking at Togusa and shrugging. "He didn't believe her, but he thought things would be all right because he knew better than to trust her.
"I don't know exactly what happened after that. But I've got another memory of him on the ship, later. The third friend showed up and instead of asking about the girl, he wanted to know about the new friends he'd made instead." He doesn't mean to, but there's a bitterness that creeps into his words. He can remember how it felt, looking at the boy on the decks below him, the burn of betrayal he'd felt when the boy hadn't cared at all about him or her. "He'd replaced us. He didn't care about finding her--he'd let the other me do all the legwork and once he'd found her, then he was worried. He was the one that told the other me he'd lose his heart to the Heartless. And I.." He looks away again. "He said that there wasn't a chance, because his heart was too strong for that."
Obviously he'd been wrong about that. And that's what Dante's afraid of: that like his other self, he might make choices based in his own overconfidence, that he'll dig himself into a hole he can't get back out of. That he'll make the same sort of mistakes his other self did and that, like him, he'll wind up alone in the end, tormented by his own failures and shortcomings.
Your heart is empty. It's a refrain that he hasn't been able to quite block out, ever since he'd first heard her say it back in March. You should be grateful. Were it not for the darkness it contains, you'd be entirely alone.
"I'm not doing this because of him, though." It's true, though weak as a defense against Togusa's words. "I'm not trying to make up for anything."
Besides. Togusa wants him to keep talking to his friends? That requires having friends he admits this sort of thing to in the first place.
no subject
"I don't... think he did," he admits, taking a long, deep breath to steady himself. "That witch I mentioned... she'd made a deal with him. If he helped her, she'd help him find the girl he was looking for. I... he kidnapped someone. A princess. I remember--he brought her this princess, and she had a ship waiting to take him to where his friend was."
His eyes close as he remembers the conversation between him and the woman, remembering that first inclination of something being wrong with the stuff he remembered. "I asked her what the catch was. She said... she said that I was like a son to her, that she only wanted me to be happy." Dante reopens his eyes, looking at Togusa and shrugging. "He didn't believe her, but he thought things would be all right because he knew better than to trust her.
"I don't know exactly what happened after that. But I've got another memory of him on the ship, later. The third friend showed up and instead of asking about the girl, he wanted to know about the new friends he'd made instead." He doesn't mean to, but there's a bitterness that creeps into his words. He can remember how it felt, looking at the boy on the decks below him, the burn of betrayal he'd felt when the boy hadn't cared at all about him or her. "He'd replaced us. He didn't care about finding her--he'd let the other me do all the legwork and once he'd found her, then he was worried. He was the one that told the other me he'd lose his heart to the Heartless. And I.." He looks away again. "He said that there wasn't a chance, because his heart was too strong for that."
Obviously he'd been wrong about that. And that's what Dante's afraid of: that like his other self, he might make choices based in his own overconfidence, that he'll dig himself into a hole he can't get back out of. That he'll make the same sort of mistakes his other self did and that, like him, he'll wind up alone in the end, tormented by his own failures and shortcomings.
Your heart is empty. It's a refrain that he hasn't been able to quite block out, ever since he'd first heard her say it back in March. You should be grateful. Were it not for the darkness it contains, you'd be entirely alone.
"I'm not doing this because of him, though." It's true, though weak as a defense against Togusa's words. "I'm not trying to make up for anything."
Besides. Togusa wants him to keep talking to his friends? That requires having friends he admits this sort of thing to in the first place.