Credence has mixed emotions. It's evident in his face; how his shoulders stoop and he looks down at anything that isn't Graves. It's his hands, scarred and sickly pale that he concentrates on. It's easier for him to do this. It's easier for him to try to work up the courage if he doesn't meet Graves' gaze.

He's honest. That's more he can say for the other one--that this one is honest. Credence is alluring, apparently, because he's important. He doesn't feel important, he feels like a monster--a freak, lurking in the shadows, only there's a shadow inside him, too. This one acknowledges it, even if it's soft, and he feels something inside of him yield. Is it the monster, or his own consciousness?

"There was a woman, you know. Back... before I came here. She was very pretty--I think she was important. There were a lot of people that took orders from her. She told them to..." The sentence trails off, but he can't finish it. It's too much to remember; the woman ordering him to be wiped away. All of those men and women behind her raising wands, not even hesitating.

Very slowly, very cautiously, he lifts his gaze up.

"Was that because they thought I was better off dead, too?"