Walter looked absolutely elated for a moment, until...
"So true. I'm to blame."
His voice was cold, and a hair faster than before. There were golden rings around his pupils, and the ever present smirk plastered itself across his face. The air turned almost repugnant with the scent of hate, bitterness, and almost ...hunger?
One thing was certain, this wasn't Walter Sullivan. This was the one that Henry, Eileen, and many others hated, perhaps even feared.
Those eyes, devoid of everything but intense negative feelings were focused on Dante. Almost as if he could see every thought, every secret she tried to keep dear to her heart, and had the gall to say them aloud.
"Manipulating... almost too well. You've done this before, with the heart of a child, haven't you?" The egotistical smirk never faded as he admitted, "Keep going this way, and Little Walter might be wrapped around your finger..."