[As relatively mild as his expression is, there's a hellava lot of sadness bottled up in there. His voice remains steady, if hesitant, but he aches.]

Clara used to tell me something like that, too. I believed her... It's my fault she's dead.

If I wasn't what I am, she wouldn't have died the way she did.

If my mother had told me I was her little experiment before she fled with me, I might have known to be careful, somehow, but...

Even if I had known, there was no information in Igaes biology. Not until I started strapping my own cells to slides.

I feel like I should have suspected something when I was younger. What normal kid loses their eye color at the age of seven?