There was a scent to pain, even emotional pain, much as there was to fear, sorrow, joy, arousal. They left marks that traced the air and he could scent hers as easily as he could hear her blood thrumming along at the pace her heart pushed it at. She wasn't afraid. Not in that moment, anyway. But she was in pain, and pain was something Vlad knew well. "Perhaps. Or perhaps it strengthens in its own way, like callouses built from work and labor. Painful at first, yes, but with time, they shield the skin from worse wounds. Pain is... tricky. It's elusive. It comes in so many forms, it's like trying to catch a thought on the wind."

One last pat, and then he took his hand back. She may not have said anything, but he'd noted the tension. Whether she accepted it or not, it still clearly wasn't something she was entirely comfortable. Pressing the matter wouldn't gain him, or her, anything. "That aside, Sharon, I think souls are hardier things, not so easily worn away from pain and sorrow. Evil can leave a mark, yes. Wicked things done of one's own volition, that's more of a stain on the soul than pain."

Was he talking about himself? Possibly. It was hard not to look back at his life and wonder where he could have changed things.