(no subject)
[Private, extremely hard (impossible?) to hack]
In the end, it has come to this. I should have seen it coming. Indeed, I, more than anyone else. I, who was trained for this, and I, who was closest to him.
I cannot claim surprise, nor ignorance. From the start, I knew who he was, and what he was. I knew what he wanted, and what he did. I had read his words fraught with death. I had seen the corpses of animals, the small, innocent creatures who did no harm.
And what was it that kept me to him? Attraction, certainly. A sense of danger, and a sense of pain, and a sense of expectation for what he could do to me.
He is what he is. And I have never felt so torn about his nature, and this desire. At least, not in memory.
There was death because of him. Death, not to an unwitting animal, but to another human. For entertainment, like as not.
He claimed that he had to do it, or the other would have killed him. Maybe it is true, and maybe it is not. It is best to believe, I think; I would still want to cling to the last shreds of faith, however slim.
And when had I remembered, I wonder? But I see it now, two people encircling each other on a hide set in snow, a dance of blades...
It is not milord Silv. He does not have hair of cornsilk, caught in a long braid that contended with the sun, nor does he whirl, glimmering, looking for all the world like a fairytale prince, even dressed in tattered rags and clumps of fur. But there were two people, and a duel, and a death at the end.
...Joscelin fought for honour, and mourned for his enemy...
I do not know what to think. Truly, I do not. Aah, to be forced to such a choice...
But I cannot shake my mind of the image, of his delight when he announced his slaughter...
For the months we shared, I cannot help them capture him. Perhaps I would be no help anyway, either to him or to them, serving simply to upset both parties. I would believe it, to ease my own mind.
And yet, I cannot aid him either. No, not after what he has done.
In the end, it has come to this. I should have seen it coming. Indeed, I, more than anyone else. I, who was trained for this, and I, who was closest to him.
I cannot claim surprise, nor ignorance. From the start, I knew who he was, and what he was. I knew what he wanted, and what he did. I had read his words fraught with death. I had seen the corpses of animals, the small, innocent creatures who did no harm.
And what was it that kept me to him? Attraction, certainly. A sense of danger, and a sense of pain, and a sense of expectation for what he could do to me.
He is what he is. And I have never felt so torn about his nature, and this desire. At least, not in memory.
There was death because of him. Death, not to an unwitting animal, but to another human. For entertainment, like as not.
He claimed that he had to do it, or the other would have killed him. Maybe it is true, and maybe it is not. It is best to believe, I think; I would still want to cling to the last shreds of faith, however slim.
And when had I remembered, I wonder? But I see it now, two people encircling each other on a hide set in snow, a dance of blades...
It is not milord Silv. He does not have hair of cornsilk, caught in a long braid that contended with the sun, nor does he whirl, glimmering, looking for all the world like a fairytale prince, even dressed in tattered rags and clumps of fur. But there were two people, and a duel, and a death at the end.
...Joscelin fought for honour, and mourned for his enemy...
I do not know what to think. Truly, I do not. Aah, to be forced to such a choice...
But I cannot shake my mind of the image, of his delight when he announced his slaughter...
For the months we shared, I cannot help them capture him. Perhaps I would be no help anyway, either to him or to them, serving simply to upset both parties. I would believe it, to ease my own mind.
And yet, I cannot aid him either. No, not after what he has done.