He almost says I try to will the red out of my eyes; I like to think that some morning I'll wake up and look in the mirror and see brown eyes looking back just like I used to but he doesn't: he's never told that secret to a single soul -- not even Lucrecia -- and he won't give it away now. Maya's question is fair, although he finds he's having a hard time putting a viable answer to it.

As he often does, he gives the question a good amount of contemplation and consideration. The lake water ripples gently; there's a general rustle to the leaves. Overhead, moonlight filters in to where they sit.

In the end his answer is simple and inarguable.

"I... live."

It's something he has a hard time not doing, seemingly. "Making a study of this place has proved to be a... fairly good use of time." The trees and forest are places he takes particular interest in; he nods toward them. "The grounds are... deceptive."