[he'll feel the twitch in Dantes - the startle that's smoothed over by him recollecting what's happening, and then the slight slump of his shoulder.]

I promised her, Andersen. Such a vow is sacred.

[and he is ruined by it.]

I do cherish her, care for her, love her - but not in the way she wishes, not in the way she needs me to. And it will never be sufficient enough to live on, not for her and not for me. So we both die slowly, starved of something that the other withholds.