Interim
I am reminded of a hollow feeling, between sadness and loathing, in the wake of newfound failings. These regrets, allowed to naturally distill, become well-considered acts of reprisal- decisive and rage. It is how we must act to separate ourselves from beasts, insects and lesser things.
But the process, as I am forced to now recall, is made less tempting by a number of factors: whether it is necessary, or deserved, or damning to respond to. Those requirements, thankfully, are all met: It must be done, it should be done and it would bring peace to my fellows. How uncommon it is that, even beyond these, I hesitate.
She had no control over this beyond doubting the fool's capacity for evil. Empathy for his plight, pity for his ineptitude and- worst by far- hope that he might improve. I warned them of how low he could sink.
Even I was not prepared for how quickly he could showcase my point. Honesty through sheer unsubtlety. Not that it deterred them. Quite the opposite: fearing what I might've done- and I might've done much- they band together more tightly, cling to their lives more fiercely.
Now?
My friend is gone. The one responsible is a threat shielded by those who don't know better, or know differently. Wrong, rather.
Must we be enemies, Cardinal? Can you see as I do?
Must I be forced to waste my investment in you?
