no subject

[There's silence on his end, the sound of a false start, then more silence. He hadn't meant to chastise her so much as himself, but in doing so, he clearly hit a nerve. Given when he knows of her -- of her life, her purpose -- he can understand why. Her control is her reason for being, as troubling a notion as that may have been; his is something very different. She writes existences, but him? He robs people of their free will. They would attack their friends if he commanded it; they would stand idle until they slowly withered away, unable to breath unless he released them.

And if he didn't? If he couldn't?

He finally musters up a couple of words, his tone impassive.]

Of course.