[It's just like Setsuna to meander off a different direction entirely, seeking his own form of understanding, but Gilgamesh has learned some measure of patience with him; he allows it, and he indulges it, because he's come to see that curiosity as endearing rather than a hassle. Though he still remembers how useless it all felt, burying that rose in the snow. Some attitudes wouldn't ever change.]

Sometimes, Setsuna, love grows so intense it turns to hatred.

[Gilgamesh knows the sentiment well. It's how he feels about one woman in particular, the same woman he'd entered the dungeon with. It always seems as if he's balancing off a precipice, and with too strong a push, he'll plummet towards that hatred. He'll loathe her as much as he loves her, someday. The selfish part of him believes she feels the same towards him, only balanced on the opposite side of the coin.

Gilgamesh shakes his head, part a few stray black hairs back into place before continuing.]

It consumes us. It blinds us. Both emotions share a common source: passion. And in all likelihood, that dragon... he still cared for her more than anything in the world. He simply could not reach her, as he wished to, and so she drifted away. Sometimes, Setsuna, love is doomed to fail.

[You are doomed to fail, he very nearly tells him, trying to reach others, as you do.]