Amidst much self-congratulation at my ingenuity in sending Doctor Woodard off with a prestidigitized sample of blood that was decidedly not that of Young Loomis, I was struck with other feelings just as potent.  I have excelled at making sport of the world in which I’ve found myself, yet I cannot make sport of the fact that I am acting wickedly within it.  Whether it is an illusion or not, my own actions are ones with which I am increasingly uneasy.  Yes, it is an illusion created by Angelique, Barnabas, so drink up.  Even if it is, should I not be a model of higher resolve and character?  Am I the new face of evil so often fought in the events of late 1795?

When I find myself caring about that too much, I have found it distressingly easy to activate vast reserves of apathy, that most evil of mental states, second only to indifference, and third behind evil.  Young Loomis has become so easy to educate. Why explain when a threat will do?  Is this a road I need travel?

At the same time, this is an age without honor.  They are warm and polite and never to be trusted.



One Comment on “245”

  1. mrsgreenhands June 8, 2013 at 5:26 pm #

    Reblogged this on Mrsgreenhands’s Weblog.

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