My sense of disgust is, in the balance, mitigated with a sense of freedom.  It is a freedom I’ve not felt in a very long time.

Her last moments were as a sad, powerless human, yes, but her life was one devoid of humanity.  With Angelique, I mean that quite literally.  Yet her actions were quintessentially human.  No, they were more than human.  It was as if, not being of the human race at all, but instead an occult creature striving for humanity, she found the one aspect with which she could most identify and then amplified it.

More and more, I’ve come to realize that Angelique only maintained the shell of humanity.  Whatever creature lay within that shell, was, like Nicholas, not of nature.  She — perhaps not she, but ‘it’ — wore the veneer of woman, but what was it, truly?  Had it been a human at one time and traded that for power?  I shall never know.

It is cruel of me to refer to her as an ‘it.’  In victory, I may be magnanimous.  My only hope at present is that this sense of liberty can be justified with authenticity.



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