[ Putting words to this is...daunting, because he doesn't fully understand it himself. (He's not from the canon point where this would make full sense to him, rip...) ]

I'm a being made of magic, produced from the long-lost idealism of a dead man. I wish I could tell you how precisely I came to be, but even with my memories unclouded... It would require further study I cannot perform here.

What I do know is that the man who's memories I share died bedridden and aged, months ago. Meanwhile I am, in appearance and mind, as he was two decades ago. I'm the cast off ideals he used to once believe in.

Maybe it would be apt to describe me as my own regrets, given physical form.