He had meant no harm.
So rarely does he ever mean harm. This is a problem, however, when one's morality was granted from above, when it has been shown to be facile and incomplete, uncolored and endlessly lacking. It was made even worse when he knew this. He understood color to a good degree, how to match one piece of cloth with another to make a desirable effect. He knew that better than he knew good and evil, and knowing that, he knew something about light and shadow, how shadow accented, how it made the light stand out. He was meant to be the shadow, to accompany, to accent. To try to be more was the height of foolishness. It'd be embarrassing if it wasn't for the fact that he could well do harm.
The entire conversation shifted; it shifted away from women in red and talking birds.
He had not intended that either and he regretted it immediately. At first, it wasn't so bad. Yes, she seemed surprised, taken aback, but she was not well and she had been reacting strangely to everything since he found her in a pit that was barely worth the name. There was even a smile. Then came the washing, and soon after the decay, the death of the smile.
Pain he caused for someone who had suffered enough tonight. As much as she wanted to shield him, he wanted to shield her, but they could not have it both ways. You would create not a phalanx in that scenario but instead an army of the blind. He had but one eye left, but he could still see that. He would be vulnerable so she did not have to. He knew what he wanted and he would give it to her instead. It was, very likely, the hardest thing he had done in years. "I have to tell him. What if he still follows this path? There are things I understand now, Gloria. He must have always known it was a false one, so young as he was. He found some way through. I would drop to a knee and beg for that truth, but how can I ask it of him, without betraying every trust he had in me."