[The question catches him entirely off guard. It's very dear to him, though--a question he has to live with every second, has to answer or evade every second, every picosecond, every microscopic instant that he continues to exist.

It's also a question he never actually expected to be asked aloud.]

Something to die for.

What I can die in devotion to, then I can live in devotion to.

[He pauses, trying to organise what is, by its nature, a very disorganised idea.]

Death, dying used to be my purpose, my... devotion.

That may have been the wrong answer, but my purpose existed with or without me. As long as I saw it coming, I couldn't fail. I... could have been happy with that.

[He was happy with that, actually. Even when he failed, it was a temporary experience; he knew he would eventually succeed.]

But once I understood your purpose there, the manor was... also exciting in that way.

[So:]

That's why I want to receive your purpose, to feel that terrible excitement of living.

[But it sucks, serving a master or purpose you can fail--at least when you're as good at fucking things up as he is.]

Mmm.

If I died tomorrow.... I'd want to die trying to find the creation of wood and rot to bring back to you.