[ Koltira's very glad that the clinging to his knee part of the afternoon is over. He relaxes, visibly, once Achilles stands up again.

But the tension returns once he notices Achilles's appraising gaze. He does not like to be looked at for overlong; to his mind he is oppressively, unforgivably ugly, and he suffers under extended regard. After just a moment of Achilles's examination, Koltira looks away, allowing the pale curtain of his long hair to obscure the features of his face. ]

Indeed I am a murderer, for in my enslavement I brought great terror to many people. But I have struggled to atone for what I was forced to do ever since my miraculous freedom--a freedom which bought me my will, but did not release me from my hungering curse.

[ He runs his fingers over the hot anvil, frowning. ]

Your distaste was therefore not unfamiliar to me. But I reacted to it badly, and let my own ill-temper cloud my judgment from then on, besides. I ought not to have been so stubborn.

[ This is the part where he might extend his hand if he were a living man, but he is not. Instead, his eerily smooth voice simply sounds more resolute than before. ]

Let us begin anew, then.