"A mortal," he says, and looks up at the man who's granted him nettles for a song, that he feels so drawn to, a tragic tale to mimic his own "And you have no mortal who would risk themselves for you?" He tilts his head toward him. "No wayward girl you've charmed? Or boy," he adds with a small smirk.

There's a part of him that's angry at curses, and another part drawn to the man in a way he can't altogether explain, that would fight this for him. And another part that thinks this might all be another trap. It doesn't matter: if it's going to take place during any semblance of daylight, he won't have the ability, and if it's too long from now, he can't afford to stray. But it's unfair, and it pulls at him.