It's a strange relief to hear that. For Jedao to say it so easily. He'd felt so stupid and useless, reciting poetry and rubbing her back while she sobbed and sobbed.

He turns to curl up on Jedao's lap again.

I told John I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't tell Arthur anything. I don't want-- I don't want anyone who likes Charlie to tell me why it's okay.

He's scared that they might, more accurately. He's afraid that something that hurts him that much could be called understandable, or that he has to put Charlie's feelings first because he was hurt more, by someone that Edwin doesn't remember being. That his brother doesn't want him to remember being. But he still has to feel bad about what that past god did, can't forget what he was born from, even though The King in Yellow feels more and more like a father he never even met.

This time when he changes shape, it's into a younger boy, the kid he was in the breach that made them family. He smushes his face against Jedao and clings to him around the waist.

"I don't know why it made me feel like this, and I don't know why it won't go away."