[ it was over seven thousand times, she says, and charles sways on his feet a little — it isn't like he can feel dizzy, but somehow the unfairness of it all hits him like a missile, crashes into his heart and leaves it in pieces; that someone else has had to go through something like that, too, that it isn't just one clerical error, landing an innocent boy in the worst place in all existence for decades, but this, too. shaw, suffering, over and over and over again.

his voice is somewhat choked when he says, ]

Yeah, I get it. [ a pause, and his voice still tries to catch in his throat, but he pushes through, ] My best mate back home, he... he spent seventy-three years in Hell. On a mistake, a — technicality, he wasn't ever supposed to be there. And in Hell, you've got your own personal place there, yeah? So he was —

[ god, this is hard to talk about; he's never, never spoken about this to anyone before, not in detail. he has to look up, and still his eyes well with tears until his gaze blurs, and fuck, but he hates this so much, his own helplessness, the idea that edwin had spent so, so long in that horror show, and there's absolutely nothing charles can do about it. ]

His hell was this spider demon, catching him and ripping him apart, and he'd, he'd respawn every time that happened. For seventy-three years. He was there for a day or so when I went to get him, the second time, and there was — this pile of his bodies, yeah, in the corner. Just one day —

[ he fights for the breath he doesn't need, and then looks at root; there's tears falling down his face, but he doesn't really care. ] I get it. I'd die a thousand times over if it meant he never has to go through that again.