He looked the fool, surely, but then, surely he always did? But Jacobi didn't always return his look in such a specific way, with emotion writ so clearly on his face, like he was looking at something awful and pitiable. Like Alphonse had carved his still-beating heart out of his chest, offering it to his valet with both hands like a child offering his nanny an unwanted garden toad.
This is heartbreking how could you do this to me.
