Killian's fingers flexed, on his good hand - now that he didn't have anything to hold, necessarily, he was apt to fidget. Especially considering the gravity of this particular conversation - but he settled for, grasping the bottom of Stanley's shirt, fabric twisting, just for something to keep him from disappearing in a swirl of crimson smoke.
"I don't know," he admitted, sounding a little pained. "I never asked for this curse - in fact, the Dark One was what I hated most, for literally hundreds of years. And then I became one. I simply didn't expect to find...comfort. In the Darkness."
Perhaps it didn't make sense. He wasn't certain how to explain it though, besides that it was sort of like an addiction - not to drugs or alcohol, but the feel of power and magic and endless possibilities. Unless it had happened to you, it was difficult to explain the talons of addiction anyway, and how you knew whatever vice was bad for you but didn't care.