[ No doubt she is already formulating some idea of where this is going, but he hasn't yet given her enough to form her own conclusion. Not that he should be relying on her to do so, anyway. Now that he's doing this, he isn't going to go about it halfway, no matter how his hands might be trembling, no matter how he may not be unable to hold still at all, his body tense and tight and his palms sweaty for reasons that have nothing to do with the illness that has beset him.

He has to keep going. ]

So...you can imagine that someone from there wouldn't be hot stuff, either. Someone...s-someone like me.

[ So, she's not on the wrong track with her line of thinking. Prompto sucks in a deep breath, blinking back tears that threaten at the corners of his eyes, as his thumb draws over his tattoo, bringing attention to it more deliberately. Even if he cannot see, he knows exactly where it is on his skin, where it indelibly sits against his wrist. He'd once tried to burn it away, and even that didn't work. For as much as he had decided not to let this mark define him, it is still a part of him, and there is no letting go of his past completely. There is no changing it, nor undoing all those years of fearful loneliness. Will he ever be able to truly let go of this crippling lack of self-worth that plagues him? Even after Noct told him he was good enough?

His chest tightens around his heart like a cage, emotion rounding out the sound of his voice, coloring it in somber and wistful tones. ]

Alisaie, I...I-I'm from the very place who tried to kill my friends. Who destroyed our home and took our Crystal. The Empire hurt people, killed them...a-and I...

[ His voice drops to a pained hush. ]

I-I was...made to be one of them.

[ Made, not born. ]