[Come on, Aranea, you know that Ardyn loves his hyperboles; besides, saying such things is enough to get some sort of reaction from her, and that's reason enough for him to be overly dramatic.]

Finding solace in the company of demons? That is quite unusual, but who am I to judge? I'm about to get one permanently etched onto my skin.

[For a fleeting second he had thought about sharing with her the notions of his own dream, the one that never did leave him even in his adult years. But in the end, talking about an endless dark was not conducive to what he was really here for. And Ardyn was never the sort to reveal too much of himself on a complete whim, at least, not something so personal and coated in uncertainty.

And so, instead, another finger lands on a sketch, and he pushes it forward. It's the grim reaper drawing, drenched in black.]

I think I like... this one. It speaks to me.

[Death. Death speaks to him, he means? What an odd thing for a man like him to say.]