[ When Royce turns, his expression is one that seems at first like it could be alarm—but no, it isn't, it's just. Wide-eyed. Intense. Maybe a little bit severe. It's as if... it's as if this man has simply materialized, oozed right out of the walls. ]

Difficult [ he begins, rather pleased with the audience, pleased that the audience bids him continue. ] to imagine, to imagine something enduring this... long! This long! Free to stay as itself, for, well, I don't know how long, precisely; free ooooof—whim. Unspoiled by whim.

[ If Cloudbank had let his life's work stand the way it deserved to, would it have been lost? Based on Royce's understanding of the variables at work in his particular predicament, he is inclined to believe that... no. It wouldn't. It might still be standing, too.

Then again, he can admit he had. Misjudged. A thing or two. Before the end there.

Anyway, that's got nothing to do with his peculiar companion, who seems really quite enamored with the tiny details of the structure before them, and, well, Royce can muster some respect for that. ]

There must have been a reason for it. Right? The reason for keeping count. Theeee... [ ah, what is the word ] purpose fulfilled. In doing it.