[he goes still as he speaks, hardly even remembering to breathe. because he's never thought of himself like that, not even at his most confident. a part of him even wants to argue - that he's replaceable, interchangeable, maybe even just one of an endless series of black wisps under endless yokes - but there are more important things to focus on, and the voices of old masters go quiet.]

To me, there's only one you - this one, here, in my arms... Random chance brought you to me, and I finally understand why early humans thought luck was a god.