Even corpses had purpose, or could be given one. A man could make himself an island his entire life, only to have reason itself laid about him, a fabricated existence. Identity became relative, history nonexistent. As they said, dead men told no tale...
That was magic, sweetest.” The witch flexed her fingers, wriggled them in front of her. “Did she think it a wave of the hands? A slip of the tongue?” A kiss upon her skin. She could see the woman reaching out and taking her in hand, kissing eac...
Man tames not vengeance; vengeance breaks the man.
Logic kills. Faith burns. Better to be the one with the torch than the one on the pyre.
That was one of the inherent flaws of faith. Belief without knowing. But worse yet: belief without action. It could be good in its own right. Beautiful, even, when embraced, but that had to be measured. Checked. Too many surrendered themselves to it....
Everyone was trying to forget something, but they could never seem to find the way to do it. All they ever seemed to do was make it worse. Such quiet madness, the masses led.
