[ in this, between them, for her, it certainly is. goodness has often been a luxury, a phantom, a piece of humanity cast out, a relic of times long passed to klaus, but that does not mean it does not live on in others. (in a faint, burning light, in him; though he wouldn't dare to admit it. wouldn't dare to touch or nourish or embrace it but a little at a time, afraid of its light.

afraid of how it has altered him.)

klaus smiles too, a small but genuine warmth offered, and answers after a pause of thought. ] I believe that people are complex. Sometimes they do bad things, sometimes they do good things, and often they do both. But the truth that defines them is their heart. [ a simplified explanation, perhaps, but no less true for it. he believes in her heart—but more than that, he believes in the tangled, twisted part of her that needs love too. ] We can only hope to follow it, when we're brave.

[ he is not always brave. he knows she has witnessed people who are not brave, done things brave people do not do.

perhaps that's why he adds, in a soft and just as curious voice: ] What is it you believe, Clementine?