( He looks up from the food, something guarded back in his expression. There's a moment where he doesn't say anything at all, shoulders briefly tense before he forces them back into their posture from moments before, finishing the bowl and placing it back down carefully. )

Elijah's memories of the house were good ones.

( Slowly, almost halting. Like his tongue is too big suddenly. The inverse is obvious. Yohan's were not. ) I thought about it. Back then. It would have been easier for her if we moved elsewhere. Somewhere with less stairs, for one. Less isolated for her physical therapy. But I believed she might need the memory of it. It had been all she ever knew. I'd hoped that would help.

( He settles back in his chair, a visible act of trying to loosen himself. )

Maybe I was wrong. It feels like a mausoleum most days.