Ambriel wasn't sure he liked things where there was no right or wrong. He liked things to have clear rules and regulations, to have distinct boundaries between what he was allowed to do and what he wasn't. Davian was always whispering in his ear, telling him how things could be different if you looked at them differently, and Ambriel knew he was susceptible to that.
He wanted order. Clarity.
"But it's about beauty," Ambriel said, tentatively, unsure of how to get this point across. "And things that are ugly. How does that work, then? You said the dissonant tones are ugly, so they must be wrong. So how does that mean that anything can be pretty, as long as you are someone else? It seems... It seems false to have that. Beauty should be truth, and truth is a gift that is the same for us all."