For a few moments, Rezo is silent. When he finally speaks, his voice is halting, the words coming out strained, needing the coaxing of the voidstorm to make themselves heard.
“I don’t know what the answer you want is. But it is a question I have been asking myself ever since my first death.”
He’d had a lot of time- three years, apparently- to think over himself, and his life. The things that he’d done, for better or for worse, and the implications of the fact that Shabranigdu had been with him since before he was born. If he’d rather be a monster or the puppet of a monster. Wavering over every what-if.
“...In the end I think it may not truly matter. A habitual drunkard who assaults someone during the depths of a binge does not get to plead innocence when he sobers up. If I was influenced by Shabranigdu, then I am still at fault for failing to resist that influence.”
(The means and the reasoning matter not. You must live with the consequences.)
no subject
“I don’t know what the answer you want is. But it is a question I have been asking myself ever since my first death.”
He’d had a lot of time- three years, apparently- to think over himself, and his life. The things that he’d done, for better or for worse, and the implications of the fact that Shabranigdu had been with him since before he was born. If he’d rather be a monster or the puppet of a monster. Wavering over every what-if.
“...In the end I think it may not truly matter. A habitual drunkard who assaults someone during the depths of a binge does not get to plead innocence when he sobers up. If I was influenced by Shabranigdu, then I am still at fault for failing to resist that influence.”
(The means and the reasoning matter not. You must live with the consequences.)