He sat near the fire, the low flames warming his right leg and arm. His feet were buried in the same so his burnt soles weren't agitated by the heat. In silence he listened, putting pieces together when she mentioned the dolls he was making with effort to resemble her. The center of his fixation. To have versions of her that he could control. 
Then, he knew who [i]she[/i] was. That she hasn't been real. That [i]this[/i] one was the true woman, and the woman he himself had been fixated on wasn't a woman at all, and was in fact a doll. 
It made sense. How many times had he wondered why her hands were so cold? Why she was so flawless? 
She [i]had[/i] been the reason the elves got into the city. Well, really, he had. Because she had gotten him to trust her, and she'd destroyed everything with what he'd given her.

[i]Ziad is gone because of you.[/i] He inhaled, feeling the weight of sorrow crush his chest again. [i]So many lives lost, so much trust shattered.[/i]

"He was successful." He said quietly. She knew the answer already. Had to. He hated her face, imperfect as it was, because it was [i]her[/i] face. She'd seen his reaction to her face, knew what to question. He may as well confirm that. He shook his head, lowering his gaze to the fire so he wouldn't have to look at her. Clearing his throat again, he explained a little more. "Not completely. Different colouring. But your face." His throat tightened.