"It was a necessity," he replies, gut twisting at the memory of what was clashing against the reality of what is. Emotions were once something to be savored by choice. Emotions used to be something he desired. Emotions used to heal him.

Physically, of course, he is in fine shape now. The energy flow feels constant. Unfortunately, the energy flow feels constant. It was one thing to take what he wanted, and another to be forced to take until his own mind tricks itself into thinking the aggregate feelings flowing into him are his own.

"Skill is an inaccurate descriptor."