He looks as broken as I felt when I started seeing the truth about our world. He's wrong. I don't see it in black and white anymore. Maybe there are some things I struggle with. Killing is wrong—at least, it should be. I don't know. This is all so fucked up.
"I'm—this is so confusing," I groan.
"You can hate yourself for what you are, or you can accept it. Think about those women and children you've saved. That woman who sat across from me cried and nearly fell apart as she recounted the events from the night she saw you. She didn't want to tell me what you looked like—even lied about it. She wanted you to go free because you saved her from a life of terror. She couldn't move, so she was stuck in the town with the man who could take her without permission any time he wanted. I had to use my magic on her to get the truth.
"Those children? They were all dehydrated to the point the youngest needed hospitalization before her kidneys shut down. You can hate the monster, but I promise you they don't. It's hard. The entire world is hard. But the ones you saved love the creature that rescued them from the real monsters out there."
He vanishes from sight, possibly tired of trying to convince me I'm not as bad as those people were. I keep thinking about what he said. I'm not human. I have to stop thinking like a human. If it'll save Kane, then it's worth it.
I strain, trying to rip up that arbitrary line that separates right from wrong. Not a damn thing. I look constipated more than I look successful. It'd be nice if Freya had left me a damn how-to guide.
I stand up, tired of straining, worried I might force a brain aneurism, and I head to the bedroom where I'll stare at the ceiling instead of sleep. Kane needs me, and I'm completely powerless to save him. If it was me in there, he would have already saved me.
As I pull the necklace over my head to put it away, a washing sense of something dark and hungry stirs within me, and a twisted grin spreads over my face. It's. About. Time.
