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Summary
There’s no reason given for it, and Corvo doesn’t honestly expect one. He doesn’t ponder much on the why of things anymore, or tries not to. Corvo sleeps better when he doesn’t go rooting around in the dark for threads to pull on.
That doesn’t stop him asking.
Doesn’t stop his other self from sneering, either.
“It’s almost precious,” the walking mirror, the him-that-isn’t-him drawls, familiar mouth hammered into an unfamiliar shape. He’s not much thinner, but there’s a starved look to him that leaves Corvo wanting to put a few more steps between them than there are. “You still think there’s a reason for any of it. That the reason matters.” The mouth curls sharper, flash of teeth, too bright. Like a rat’s. “Well it doesn’t.”