"Odd, perhaps," he replies, his eyes still on the marker before them. "But so long as there is comfort to be found in such a place, it serves a purpose. That is more than can be said of some individuals."

He has said the same about himself many times. He knows the truth is otherwise, but it's still hard to convince himself of that when years of social ostracization weigh upon his conscience. He hadn't deserved it, he tells himself; it was necessary... for others. Not for him, as he'd thought before. It had been a detriment to him, as he has come to realize far too late. He'll never been the sort who enjoys parties or large gatherings, but the whispers of his own solitude are far more maddening than people could ever be.