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The therapist looked up.
"Do you remember the first time you killed?"
"Depends on what you call 'first time'."
"What do you mean by that?"
How did he even begin to explain this? It wasn't something he understood either, not in so many words.
He did remember the first time he himself, the entity known as Gilbert, or rather Giselbert, killed someone.
And all the other times. And all the times any human-who-was-him had killed.
A litany of agony, of shadows locked in conflict that stained his outline in the world, whether it stood in fields, palaces, or ruins.
A shout, a cry of clashing weapons that never ceased, even when he reached as far back as he dared.
In ages where he did not yet exist, they fought still, blades of bronze glinting as they clashed for the glory of those who had summoned their host from afar.
"Depends. Do you want the memories of those who came before, or of who I am now?"