“All my life,” Claudius murmurs, “I’ve wanted to live in a peaceful place. Even before I knew war, even before I’d seen men die in one. I wasn’t at peace. Violence could erupt at any moment, and I would have to weather it, because there was no escape from it, and no one would protect me. But I believed I could bear it. If every court, every community, has a sacrificial lamb to bear the punishment for everyone’s sins, I could be that lamb. But I couldn’t control even that. Because I couldn’t control my own feelings, because I couldn’t hide them, she hurt her, and she hid it from me. I never knew until it was too late. I’ve learned to look everywhere for dangers I might otherwise miss, and still — I didn’t know until it was too late.”

He can imagine the stark, black lines in his trauma workbook, the ones he didn’t want to fill in because it felt like confession. What triggers you or causes you to react strongly? What feelings come up when you are triggered? His voice is even. He doesn’t look Dionysus in the eye, but over his shoulder. But even detached like this, he stays in the hug. Despite everything, he wants it to make him feel something.