"The others can hold their summons for longer than a few moments."

Masque shrugs. "Stamina. Like any muscle. If you don't use it it wastes."

"Probably where I'm going wrong, then." 

Masque is entirely correct. Zevran was never much of a summoner, even from the beginning, and his refusal to learn has led to this: someone who will definitely die, unable to kill Sin. The thought stings harder when he remembers how close Bambi is right now, with the Farplane such a short walk.

"So practice."

“It’s not as easy as that.”

"-Isn't it?"

“No, it’s- I started too late.”

Enquiring chirp?

“It was never supposed to be me. Bambi, she was supposed to be the one. She was supposed to succeed.”

"-Fair. But- how do you know practice won't help?"

“Because I- (can’t. I can’t. It was never supposed to be me) Because I’m only so strong. This is it.”

"-Is that you or Yevon's priests talking?"

“The priests?” Zveran looks up, confused frown on his face. “I...I had never even considered that.”

Had he really internalised what they told him?

"Perhaps you should."

“Truly, I didn’t think they even cared enough to make me think that.”

"People don't have to care to fuck up people's heads."

“True enough. Though they cared about Bambi enough to make sure I wouldn’t ruin her chances.”

"I imagine that would suffice to make you think you couldn't improve."

“Perhaps not.”

Masque hums and falls silent.

Zveran leans back onto the bed. He feels off. His world seems shifted off centre. 

Masque settles on the floor, cross-legged, now trying to ignore the fact they're in an enclosed space.

Zveran manages to fall asleep, mind still raging. 

Masque does not sleep. They know they should, and they do try, but it's too tight, too enclosed...

Zveran wakes for much the same reason. The air feels tight and still here. He sits up quickly and gathers his belongings. 

He sees Masque, and a note of guilt strikes him. "I'm sorry. Let's get out of here."