"I've accepted that I'm a host," he says with a shrug. It doesn't matter anymore. He's going to host the ghosts and demons until the end of time, and nothing could get them out. Might as well learn to live with them. It might disappoint those around him, but he's never going to get anywhere pretending he's anything else. "The dead can't get enough of me."

It has been a bit since he's eaten. The texture of meat is so fucking gross. He'd consider going vegetarian if it weren't fucking winter and all the plants weren't dead. This is the second man he's refused to leave Elysium with, and for what? At the end of the day, this is home. He probably isn't much use anywhere else. He's too skinny, too fragile, to make it in any of the warrior packs. Maybe he could be a courtesan, or a trophy wife, or some other pack's Oracle.

"Mostly it's the bones speaking these days." A soft guidance, those damn bones. "You did good with the funeral spread." That, at least, he can offer. "It's a shame they didn't let you give a eulogy. You've always wanted to give one of those."