Your emotion is inevitable. You think yourself a great warrior, but everything bows to me in the end.

[His tone is final, cold, though without any hint of anger. But, whether it's due to Hopes repeated insistence to try to coexist with these people, or if Sorrow simply has plans for Glacius that require not being on his permanent shit list, he relents, if only slightly.]

Scrub off the paint on my temple. One of you thought fit to decorate it, and I am in no mood for frivolity.