.third.quarter.
- Voice -
Locked to Shirley and (not knowing he's back; just on faith) Arthur
I scarcely know how to express these thoughts, but by repression I do not wish them to be involuntarily broadcast. Perhaps by deliberate recording I can keep them private only to you. At least for now. Though this is not part of my agreement.
I've been avoiding thinking about it. Or facing it. But I've now seen her at two other times of her life. Magically, as a child; and, if only psychologically regressed by memory loss, as a young woman. Neither is the monster.
I wish I hadn't. I wish I could only hate her and wish her dead.
I wish I didn't have to see, and to wonder further, how when such transformation could be made, if it could be unmade.
I can't only see the loathesomeness she is. Now I can also see the tragedy.
I suppose the same was true of Voldemort-the one who wreaked still greater devastation and cruelty and created her in his image. Any person, capable of possessing a degree of normality to start, who would still allow themselves to become such a thing, must be held all the more accountable.
At the same time… she is also a victim. Not of upbringing, of the most terrible tutelage, which while true still cannot be full excuses; but moreover of a prison system, that is absolutely assured-intended-to induce insanity.
The hatred and violence between us makes me feel all the more bound-somehow obligated. Either to personally save-no matter how often I try and fail-or destroy. But not… now, though it comes and goes in cycles, not I think in vengeance.
Ah. What is wrong with me.
Locked to Shirley and (not knowing he's back; just on faith) Arthur
I scarcely know how to express these thoughts, but by repression I do not wish them to be involuntarily broadcast. Perhaps by deliberate recording I can keep them private only to you. At least for now. Though this is not part of my agreement.
I've been avoiding thinking about it. Or facing it. But I've now seen her at two other times of her life. Magically, as a child; and, if only psychologically regressed by memory loss, as a young woman. Neither is the monster.
I wish I hadn't. I wish I could only hate her and wish her dead.
I wish I didn't have to see, and to wonder further, how when such transformation could be made, if it could be unmade.
I can't only see the loathesomeness she is. Now I can also see the tragedy.
I suppose the same was true of Voldemort-the one who wreaked still greater devastation and cruelty and created her in his image. Any person, capable of possessing a degree of normality to start, who would still allow themselves to become such a thing, must be held all the more accountable.
At the same time… she is also a victim. Not of upbringing, of the most terrible tutelage, which while true still cannot be full excuses; but moreover of a prison system, that is absolutely assured-intended-to induce insanity.
The hatred and violence between us makes me feel all the more bound-somehow obligated. Either to personally save-no matter how often I try and fail-or destroy. But not… now, though it comes and goes in cycles, not I think in vengeance.
Ah. What is wrong with me.