The Mote in Glacius' palm flickers and wavers, its light dimming for a moment as its rays struggle to turn--a reflection of his spirit, wounded by this confirmation of his fears.

"I know," the ice alien murmurs, lowering his head to graze his one intact mandible through Carlisle's hair--attempting to reassure both his partner and himself with the contact. Then, he allows the ice coating one of his large thumbs to liquefy so that he can assist the clergyman in wiping the ink from his eye. "Don't worry about worrying me; you are going through enough without feeling like you have to... hide this and put on a brave face. I am glad you finally feel like you can be open and honest about your struggles. I won't stop working to find a solution, and in the meantime I will do whatever I can to keep you safe from things that might exacerbate your condition... alright? We can't give up hope."