Three minutes. 

Osirion knows that she has not sold her soul. Keltham must know, by now, what she is, what she did to him, how easily she could have done otherwise. He must hate her, and he must -

- be in so much pain -

- Keltham. Keltham Keltham Keltham and now it's only with tremendous force of will that she's keeping herself from sobbing. She has no idea what she feels for him; you can only feel if you have a self, maybe, and in place of a self she has only lies, and crimes, and crimes made out of lies, things she did for no reason, 'muddled' doesn't even begin to describe it, wrongs she did out of a calculated desire to not be a person who had to think about how they were wrongs.

He did know, instantly, the magnitude of what it meant, that he was here, and he lit up delightedly, at the thought of mutual benefit, gains from trade, prosperity, sharing, all the things she tried to twist to dust in his hands because it'd serve Asmodeus. She loves him less, she think, than she did when he arrived, and it's because of what she made him, what she spent every waking minute with him sculpting him into. She saw something beautiful in him, something that ought to build a whole human civilization, and she tried to hollow it out and make all the beautiful parts of it feel futile to him so he'd consign himself to ruling over some cowed slaves instead. She's not sure if it was a stupid thing to try. She's not sure if it could never have succeeded. But it wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't what he deserved, it was a wrong to him far greater than murdering him would have been, it was a wrong enabled by the fact that she loved what she was destroying, and she did it, and basked in praise for doing it, and -

- he loved her too, he thought she was clever and ambitious and wanted to strengthen him, wanted to help him, he thought he had an ally, he would have overturned every stone in Golarion to find her petrified body, he would have ripped apart the world for her, and she took that, the only no-strings-attached gift anyone ever gave her, and used it to destroy him, to lie to him, to betray everything that mattered to him. She took the thing he was most afraid of, and did it to him; she took something he should have had really and honestly, and gave it to him poisoned.

Three minutes. 

Osirion knows that she has not sold her soul. Keltham must know, by now, what she is, what she did to him, how easily she could have done otherwise. He must hate her, and he must -

- be in so much pain -

- Keltham. Keltham Keltham Keltham and now it's only with tremendous force of will that she's keeping herself from sobbing. She has no idea what she feels for him; you can only feel if you have a self, maybe, and in place of a self she has only lies, and crimes, and crimes made out of lies, things she did for no reason, 'muddled' doesn't even begin to describe it, wrongs she did out of a calculated desire to not be a person who had to think about how they were wrongs.

He did know, instantly, the magnitude of what it meant, that he was here, and he lit up delightedly, at the thought of mutual benefit, gains from trade, prosperity, sharing, all the things she tried to twist to dust in his hands because it'd serve Asmodeus. She loves him less, she thinks, than she did when he arrived, and it's because of what she made him, what she spent every waking minute with him sculpting him into. She saw something beautiful in him, something that ought to build a whole human civilization, and she tried to hollow it out and make all the beautiful parts of it feel futile to him so he'd consign himself to ruling over some cowed slaves instead. She's not sure if it was a stupid thing to try. She's not sure if it could never have succeeded. But it wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't what he deserved, it was a wrong to him far greater than murdering him would have been, it was a wrong enabled by the fact that she loved what she was destroying, and she did it, and basked in praise for doing it, and -

- he loved her too, he thought she was clever and ambitious and wanted to strengthen him, wanted to help him, he thought he had an ally, he would have overturned every stone in Golarion to find her petrified body, he would have ripped apart the world for her, and she took that, the only no-strings-attached gift anyone ever gave her, and used it to destroy him, to lie to him, to betray everything that mattered to him. She took the thing he was most afraid of, and did it to him; she took something he should have had really and honestly, and gave it to him poisoned.