"Unfortunately," Carlisle replies, his voice dripping with all the revulsion he can muster.

Closing his eyes, he puts his hands to the smooth metal frame of the cabinet. It comes easier to him this time, albeit marginally: he's still disgusted he apparently has such an ability, frustrated with himself because of what it means in regards to his being the Blight Heir, but now that he knows what it feels like to consciously cause decay, it takes him less buildup and mental berating to get the job done. The surface of the cabinet corrodes beneath his fingers, rot blossoming across it in circles like a field of tainted, vile flowers.