Errol watched Beauty's face as she processed what he had told her, wondering what would be the worst possible thing to see there. Disgust? Hatred? Pity? He had enough self-hatred and disgust for the things he'd done to last lifetimes. But pity... somehow, that might have been worse. As though he hadn't known what he had been doing. And perhaps he hadn't at first, but after, when he'd stopped taking the Prozium--he'd been completely cognizant of every consequence of his actions, then.
"Years," he said bleakly. "All my life."
He had to stop and consider her question carefully. How to answer that? What would she consider freedom: from the Prozium, or from Libria altogether? He considered his second, fatal escape his most successful one, personally, though he thought that it might upset her to hear that.
"I stopped taking the Prozium years ago," he said. "It was an... experiment, I suppose. And after that--" After that, what? He couldn't go back on it. He smiled wistfully. "After that, I never took it again, for all the good and ill that it entailed." As an afterthought, he added, "I became an agent for the Resistance. It was useful for them to have someone so highly placed on the inside."
Though he hadn't been able to do a damned bit of good for them in the end.